A/N: Thank you AussieMaelstrom for beta, though I did some heavy tinkering, but that's because I'm reading 'Sharp Objects' by Gillian Flynn. Good book man. Such a good book.
John
His hands ghosted over her breasts, fingertips slowly encircling the nipples, making them almost too tender as his hot wet tongue twisted around them. Her gasps were audible and loud throughout the room. Ignoring her back that smarted due to the floor she focused on the fingers that slid into her warmth, brushing carefully against her already swollen bud that he'd teased so mercifully.
She almost bucked against his hand, restraining herself, as she could feel his fingers bending inside her, his smile one of clear enjoyment over how wet she was. He seemed intent on making her scream, out of lust, out of frustration, as his fingers pulled back, his teeth biting lightly into her breast, and her tense body pushed against air wantonly. Any moment she would break, her resolve barely keeping up, but she enjoyed the game.
The second he slid into her, she knew she'd lost.
John Watson. He wasn't eyed in the same way at Bart's like Greg, but he'd been in the military after all. She had found him cute, seeming a bit reserved at first but rather cheeky in the end. He was also a doctor and he was downright charming, with a bottom both the female and male staff had marvelled over. Because John was nice Sherlock had become accessible to the masses, the staff enduring the consulting detective's escapades more, as they all had glimpses into his psyche due to John's witty blog.
But John wasn't that nice, and she wouldn't…ever.
She wasn't that sort of person. Then again, she'd never imagined she'd willingly enter any kind of dalliance with a married man. "This isn't Hollyoaks! Don't jump to conclusions before you've heard all the facts-," Meena had snapped on the phone in an attempt at being reassuring, though Molly had felt more cowed than anything, wanting to stay underneath her duvet until she was physically dragged to work next week… or month. After all - if it was indeed Mr Watson - then did she really need to show up at his home to ask? Even if he wasn't answering her texts, or calling him landed her right in his voice mail - that didn't mean it was a subject they needed to discuss immediately, right? Instead Meena had reminded her of the one thing which she didn't want to think about. "Are you upset because it might be John or upset because this means Sherlock is properly off limits?"
"He was always…off limits," she said grudgingly, knowing the latter was a tiny bit hypothetical. You never shagged someone's best friend and got away with it. Not that they were in a relationship, but she knew she wouldn't exactly be…Then again, she'd almost… with Jim – oh – now was really not the time to hate herself entirely.
"So you admit this might not even be the case and you might have shagged some sexy Zorro out there?"
The option did sound rather good compared to the problem she might be faced with, might being the key word to focus on. "Let's be realistic… Could John pull off Zorro?" Meena added as an afterthought. It was a valid question; very valid in fact, which was why Molly dared go to the Watson's home with her chin held up high until she was right outside his front door.
But at the sight of the door she almost jumped off the stone steps, her hands trembling from holding the umbrella too long. She was tired and it wasn't like there was an expiration date on this very conversation, but to her absolute horror the door opened revealing Mary who had her baby daughter clutched to her front.
"Hiya! I thought I saw you," said the woman with a bright smile, and Molly blinked against rainwater, suddenly reminded that this woman was an ex-assassin (John really needed to know when to shut his gob, Sherlock hadn't needed to tell her to keep it a secret though). "You're not here about John – are you?" said Mary who's brows were knitted together.
Her hand clamped tighter around the handle of her brolly, while she gazed up at Mary who bounced her daughter against her frame, the baby gurgling happily. "What do you mean?" she said carefully. "Why would I be here about John?" Lying had never ever been her strong suit, but she just wanted to make sure she wasn't talking about one thing and Mary about another. She'd had enough of that for a long time now. This conversation wasn't suggestive anyway; the woman had a baby strapped against her. It was safe. There were no handcuffs.
"Didn't he disappear all of a sudden on you?" said Mary in one breath, while Molly found herself holding hers. "Let's get inside, it's too cold for Lucy right now and you must be shivering."
She stood longer than she needed outside gaping, the sound of rain pounding on her umbrella, before she tentatively walked inside the Watson's home.
No.
Mary was obviously talking about something else, and she was being presumptuous. But walking inside to find the woman sweeping her baby into the cot in the sitting room smiling at her did make her a bit afraid. Not that Mary was scary. The first time she'd met Mary had been at Sherlock's, sipping on champagne together back when the woman had seemed ordinary. That was until Sherlock had become a gunshot victim and Mary was suddenly quizzing her about the man's boltholes. And Sherlock had always warned her never to lie if she was pressed about it, because she was a terrible liar. He'd also complained that Mary seemed to figure out his lies. She should just go home. She wasn't feeling well enough to have a conversation with the wife of the man she might have had sex with, and in general, she suspected adulteresses did not seek out the spouses of their lovers.
"Oh!" said Mary softly, slapping a hand against her cheek like she'd forgotten something, while Molly just stood dripping on the carpet, unsure of what to do, but she did begin to remove her coat and finally folded her umbrella together as well. "Mind going with me to the kitchen? You can fill me up on all about last night – John's only sent me a text about it really. Think he's a bit afraid of what I might think - don't know why really, since I haven't got any problem with it."
"Umm-," began Molly who'd finally set her things aside, as Mary begun walking off to the kitchen where objects like knives existed in varying sizes, which prompted utter desperation - " – I'm so sorry-," she blurted out, face red, mouth beating the confession out of her.
"Sorry?" said Mary who whirled around, eyebrows high on her forehead. "Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault. It's his for being so careless." She looked only mildly annoyed, and Molly didn't know how to tackle that. Normal wives threatened, and snapped, but perhaps her previous line of work made these kinds of things silly?
"But…don't you feel it's awkward?"
"No, it's Sherlock's brother after all."
"What?" she said gaping.
Zorro was Mycroft Holmes?
No - wait - what?
She had just started to open her mouth, to properly speak about the whole thing when the door to the house burst open and John Watson walked inside dressed in a soaked sailor outfit looking like he'd eaten a whole lemon. "Never again!" he shouted, causing Lucy in her cot to cry out. He spoke more softly the next time as he shut the door, "Never bloody again – will I help – Mycroft – with anything!" He seemed to suddenly see her, his eyebrows drawn together. "You! Your bloody friend!"
"Hmm?" she said feeling on the spot, despite the general elation that flew through her. Zorro was still a mystery, and if she never found out who the married man was it would be a bit like Schrodinger's cat. Could Zorro really be married if she never knew who he was?
No, he could not.
"My…friend?" she said though she probably looked stupid, as a grin had popped up on her face due to the relief.
"Zorro," spat John with a grimace.
He'd been ignoring the vibrations of his phone all night. It was his bloody right after all. Sherlock was being annoying. Mycroft was being annoying. Both the Holmes' brothers were having some tiff about something, and he really didn't want to be the third party. He was always sorting out things anyway.
They were adults!
Grown men who were entirely capable of – oh wow – John was enthralled by the sight of Molly Hooper (who resembled a multi-layered marzipan cake) practically straddling the lap of some stranger entirely in black with a mask to boot, quite the eye-watering contrast right there. 'Good for her' he thought, saluting the pair with his bottle, until he took a long, unrestrained sip of it.
John had no plan of staying very long, since Mary needed him at home, and he could hardly enjoy himself. He'd had the worst row imaginable with Sherlock who'd been absolutely stubborn about going, despite the hospital's efforts on making him the guest of honour. John suspected he needed more incentive than that, since he'd even turned down being knighted.
Twice.
It was when he spotted Anderson eyeing him in the distance that he knew he needed to get away. The man was nice, but he had a tendency to ask questions he really didn't want to be confronted with, especially since Anderson kept posting commentaries on his blog, which he often left unanswered. Quickly getting to his feet he saw that Molly had untangled herself from her stranger, and John decided to join the pair of them to evade Anderson.
"Hi -," he began with a smile, though from what he could see of Zorro he was frowning at him, while Molly smiled in return.
"Hiii," she said happily, giving him a hug, and soon pointing out his costume. "How'd this happen?" She was clearly delighted by the ensemble.
"Last minute," he said brushing that aside – "Are you going to introduce me then?"
Molly beamed even more at this, her eyes lighting up, as she opened her mouth –
"Did I know who it was?" she said gasping.
"You said Zorro, rem-," John stared at her blankly, his cross expression turning rather surprised. "Wait – you don't know who that was?" he said looking utterly bewildered.
"No," she said as Mary looked at the pair of them equally lost, though somewhat eager to listen to their conversation, as she hadn't walked off.
"But – but – he knew who My-," said John who proceeded to groan. "He took my bloody phone, confiscated it – and made-,"
"Mycroft show up?" said Mary with a shrug, biting her lip in amusement. "How did that go then?" The married couple stared at each other for a few seconds – Mary with her hands on her hips, while Molly noticed that John's costume with its white trousers was quite see-through. She averted her gaze and fixed her eyes on his face.
John gave Mary a look – "How do you think? I've just got home. I walked around in this costume all night and day. This costume. I ended up taking the tube, Mary. The tube. In this costume."
"Aren't you John Watson?" hollered a man opposite him. Passengers laughed openly, while he sat with crossed arms, trying to understand why he hadn't just told everyone to bugger off. Mycroft didn't really need him for a case anyway. The man only wanted to know where Sherlock was for some reason, and hoped 'stealing' John away would make his younger brother show up, which he didn't.
"Aren't you?"
John glanced upwards and saw the laughing expression die away on the man's face. At least he had a solid glare despite the outfit, even if some of the men had ogled him a bit too much.
"Don't see the problem," Mary quipped happily, as Molly hid away a laugh. John looked like he was about to protest, silently opening and closing his mouth. "Baby," his wife said as if that meant she had rights, and he snorted. When he stomped off however, she saluted his exit winking soundly – "Goodbye – sailor!"
John's groan was audible from the floor above.
"Your idea?" said Molly giggling.
"Yeah…though I thought I'd be the one who had fun with that costume – and not Mycroft, but you can't have everything," said Mary smiling evilly.
Molly just felt tremendously relaxed all of a sudden, even if Mary was eyeing her with interest. "Why are you really here then?"
She told her over several cups of tea. Mary kept quiet during most of it, laughing in all the right moments, though she looked thoughtful in the end. "Well - I can say one thing…John could never pull off Zorro. Don't ever tell him that, but he's a bit too short for the cloak."
"You should ask Sherlock. Mystery lover sounds like something he'd find out," Mary had told her confidently and she agreed. Sherlock was the only man able to find out who the married man was, despite her want to just camp out on her sofa and forget any of it happened.
The problem was of course the flat, as the clutter was rather tricky to ignore, and she had felt the scent of sex slam into her face upon entry. No, maybe he wasn't married, and maybe she'd have a lover upon discovering him again. Except in all honesty she wasn't really the one to have a lover, though clearly this man was worth it. But then again would she want to be with a man who'd run off?
She still didn't know how she'd breach the topic to Sherlock, since she knew it wasn't his area really. "Oh, Sherlock, can you find out who my mystery shag is?" She could hear him scoffing in her head, before hanging up on her demonstratively, though she knew he'd probably just awkwardly mutter something. He barely tolerated her saying the word 'sex' and her reminding him she had sex would escalate to the point where she wouldn't hear from him in weeks, probably. But the idea of asking him for help did amuse her, and she really needed a laugh.
Oh, she needed a laugh.
Are you busy? – M xx
So she sent him the text, throwing her mobile away, expecting the answer to come hours away, but it pinged in that very second. Maybe he was bored.
No.
Can we talk?
Inviting him over would help, though she didn't like the idea of him seeing her flat in its current state, but it was rife with clues at least.
Certainly.
She eyed the condom with disgust.
Okay, maybe inviting him over was a bad idea.
Shall I come over?
No need for that.
He was obviously out already, and she could manage to clear that up after all. She was an adult. It was bodily fluids, and she worked with them daily. Also – she had some spare surgical gloves in her cupboard.
When will you be here then?
Molly, I already am.
She didn't know how long she stared at her phone, brows knitting and unknotting while she tried to understand that simple message. What did that even mean? Molly was just about to send a reply when it hit her and she dropped her phone, springing off to the one room she'd not been in the whole day - her guest bedroom.
The door was slightly cracked open and she almost drew back in disbelief. Oh God. Pushing the door utterly open she spotted an unusual sight – on the bed – naked – handcuffed to the bedframe – Sherlock.
They stared at each other, brown eyes meeting those mysterious blue-green hues that narrowed at her like she was a criminal. She found her voice in the end, small and faltering, but it was present – "Zorro?"
He raised his brow almost mockingly.
"Bo peep?" he bit out.