Here it is, at last! Sorry it took me a while. Thanks so much for your patience!

Molly's Choice III

John was a little alarmed at the turn of events and he again found himself, ostrich-like, with his hands over his face in embarrassment, while Molly and Sherlock stared at him as he lay naked on Sherlock's bed. His erection was not abating in the least, and bobbed in the air of its own volition to his complete mortification.

"Here, John," said Sherlock. He was shirtless but still in trousers as he tossed a dressing gown to his friend on the bed.

"Oh, god, thank you," John said, sitting up, putting it on.

"Oh, I was rather enjoying the view. And he was in a beautiful state of surrender, Sherlock, I'm sure you noticed." Molly pouted.

"Yes, I know, but there's no sense in him getting cold, and feeling humiliated all at one go. Besides, you don't know the next step, do you, Molly dear?" Sherlock's eye twinkled, and he was on the bed, pinning Molly beneath him, rubbing his cheek and chin over her face, neck and lower.

"Mmm, yes I do, would you like to hear it?"

John spun around, attentive.

"Yes, I would," Sherlock purred, tonguing the hollow of Molly's throat, and then lowered his mouth to her breasts, nipping at them.

"All right. John, dear, how about this? You wear that dressing gown, and you can tie it, like that, that's fine. And let Sherlock just – touch you. But Sherlock, no kisses on the mouth, all right? And nothing, nothing goes into John's mouth, either, full stop."

"Um, um,, um, that's not – I don't know if that's -." John became quite agitated.

"Shhh, John, I'm not done, all right? And, Sherlock, absolutely no kind of ah - penetration, or thought of any kind of penetration whatsoever, that's not happening, all right?"

Sherlock quickly erased any expression he might have on his face. He tried to keep a look of thoughtfulness playing about his eyebrows as he pressed down his utter elation at the infinite possibilities that Molly's scenario presented to him.

"No, of course not, Molly. Hmm, I don't knoooooow . ..John?" Sherlock managed to drawl out, trying to make it seem as if he wasn't completely satisfied with the plan.

Molly noticed that the sense of surrender John had achieved earlier had been compromised with the robe. She was a little irritated with Sherlock for giving John the robe. But what Sherlock would have told her was that the gown would help John to feel a little more secure as they set the rules of the game, and was easily dealt with later.

John was getting a little dizzy at the notion of Molly's scenario. He sat at the edge of the bed, feeling a bit of a sweat come on, and he noticed his hands were shaking. Sherlock noticed this and smiled.

"Oh, god, John. Look, Molly, his hands are shaking. I really think it's time to call this off. We'll just go on as we've been, it's enough for me. I don't need to – John, I'm sorry, honestly I've been too – I've been childish again, forgive me. Molly, Molly, love, go to him –"

"No, no." John held up one shaking hand, his mouth barely functioning, feeling as though it were full of cotton wool. "It's all ri- aghm, I'm all right. We'll, what you said, Molly, that's – um, agh . . ." John's mouth suddenly seemed to have no saliva, no moisture in it at all.

Poor John, thought Sherlock, right into the palm of my hand.

"You see, Molly," Sherlock said, "Now he feels he has to do this act, this military bravado, just to save face, and that's not at all what we're here for is it? – it's supposed to be fun, look at him, he looks as though he's to be executed. John? Do you feel as though you're about to be executed? Hmm?" Then Sherlock's voice changed, and his expression changed to patient amusement.

"John, it certainly seems as though you'd prefer to be executed. Not very flattering, it must be said."

"Wait, what are you -?" John looked carefully at Sherlock, noticing the change in his tone and behaviour, realizing he was changing back to his normal demeanour from some kind of act.

Sherlock allowed John to see his smile, and in that moment John realized he was being wound up. He's manipulated me into saying it's all fine, John thought, he's made me do just what he wants, but now – now he's showing me that he has manipulated me. Why? Oh. Oh, god. He wants me to want it, too.

"You really are – ah -very good at that, I must say." said John.

"My dear friend, I could never – I genuinely don't want to do anything you're uncomfortable with. I'm not, well, ah - I'm not a rapist and -."

"Oh, Sherlock, no one's saying that -."

"Molly, dear, of course not, I use hyperbole to illustrate my meaning. It's just that – for all my, ah – experience, let's call it experience – in this particular case I – ah, would hope that my attentions were – not unwelcome. I mean - at the very least."

John sat at the edge of the bed, his head spinning. How has he done this? John thought. He's made me feel as though I've been the faulty party. And he's made me want to let him. Let him do this, this – game. And he's done it with humor, grace, forbearance, dishonesty and god love him, finally honesty as well. Oh, god, let me strangle him now.

"All right. Molly, darling, sit in the chair, here." John indicated the small arm chair that he was facing, where he sat at the edge of the bed. Molly hopped off the bed, and knelt at John's side. He took her face in his hands.

"I'm fine, go sit there, ok?"

Molly complied. John tried to relax as he felt Sherlock kneel directly behind him.

"Good lord, Sherlock, when did you take off your trousers?" John sighed, resigned.

"Problem? I thought that we - that is -." He hid his wicked grin from John as he fake stammered, but Molly saw and smiled.

John sighed again. "Never mind, just, ahhhhhhhhh."

Sherlock had slipped his hands up John's arms to his shoulders again, and squeezed carefully, but deeply.

"That's right, move your head around a little, good." Sherlock continued to gently work John's shoulders and neck, not as hard as before, but deeply, and firmly, and it seemed to help his friend relax.

"Yes, good, that's good." Sherlock's baritone now whispered gently, "I think it will help you to only think about sensations. Try not to assign value; even simple things like 'good' or 'bad.' Oh, and remember the Alamo, John."

"What?"

"It's the safeword. In case you feel – trapped. I hope you won't. But - Say it for me, please."

"Alamo."

"Thank you."

John tried to remain calm as Sherlock leaned in behind him and pressed his lips to John's neck, nuzzling him. He felt Sherlock's tongue run along his hairline, and then kisses, small kisses along his hair line then his tongue again.

Wait a second, kisses? Licking me, kissing me? When was that agreed to at all? John's mind tried to keep from flying apart as he took in everything his friend was doing to him. But if I call a foul, if I stop, we'll have to stop, and redefine things again, more talking – I'm not going to win this, there's no winning. I'll have to trust him. Just give up, just give in - nnnnggggghhh. Oh for god's sake.

John tried to keep his breathing regular as Sherlock took a mouthful of John's hair and pulled gently, then returned to his hairline, licking, kissing and nuzzling. John thought about what Sherlock had said, to only think about sensations without assigning value. Not a bad idea, because any value he could assign these sensations would have to be: hot. And it was only this that was bothering him, after all, this labelling nonsense. He knew it was nonsense, and what hot meant in this context, with this person of this sex and it was all silly. But he couldn't, just couldn't get past it. And thus, here we are, thought John.

"Oh my god," said John, with a deep and sudden inhalation of breath.

Sherlock had taken his hands from John's shoulders and ran them around to his chest, pulling John's back against Sherlock's own body, and working his pecks with his fingers. All this, while Sherlock continued to kiss and taste John's neck, now with more insistence, more hunger. Now there was more biting, and now, John knew, there would be marks in the morning. Oh for god's sake. Please, nothing above the collar line. Thank god I'm married. He allowed it.

"Salty, I like that. All right, John?" Sherlock whispered into John's ear, teasing him, then he licked his ear as well, for good measure.

"Ok," John managed.

Tighter, Sherlock pulled John tighter to him, and now John could feel Sherlock's erection against his back. Jesus, this happened very quickly, where on earth does one go from here?

"Do you feel me? Can you feel me, John?" Sherlock whispered in John's ear, as he pulsed against John's back.

"Yes, yes." John tried to be agreeable.

Sherlock chuckled quite loudly, an echo of his earlier laughing fit at John's attempt at shirt removal.

"Thank you for speaking to me, at least, hahaha." Sherlock's hands worked down to John's abdomen and then his flanks, and back up his back. Then they were just all over his torso, chest, shoulders, back, abs, back and forth, while Sherlock raked his teeth across John's shoulder and neck and back. John felt quite faint, as he struggled to breathe deeply, but not hyperventilate.

"John?" Sherlock finally said, slowing down a little.

"Mmm," John nodded and Sherlock took his friend's face in his hand as he continued to stroke his back and chest.

"So, did you ever – when you were a boy?"

"Hmm, yes, there were a couple of - ah – cousins."

"Ah, hahaha. Kissing cousins."

"No, no kissing."

"Oh, no, no, no, of course not, hmmhmm." Sherlock was nuzzling John's face, but managed to keep up a conversation. "And?"

"Ah- you know, ah -group - wank, mutual wank."

"Hmm, sounds very lively. But you didn't let that define your sexuality, did you?"

"Oh, uh – no-I unhhhhhhhh." But John couldn't complete that thought because Sherlock knocked a bit of wind out of him when he put his arm across his chest, and with all his force, hauled John from the edge to the center of the bed, and pinned him down, smiling into his face.

"Roughhouse, then? Wrestling? Did you get pinned? Like this?"

"Unnnhhh. No, I've never before agreed to be passive."

"Oh, yes, of course." Sherlock dragged his evening's beard across John's jaw line, chin and down his throat. Then, he was kissing and tonguing John's pecs, and, oh god, his nipples, biting and sucking them as well.

"Oh Jesus," John managed.

Sherlock stopped for a moment, looking at his friend and spoke.

"John, put your hands somewhere, hmmm? Don't let them flail about like a pair of flouder on the deck. How about my hair? You know you want to. Go on, give Molly a show." Sherlock continued kissing and nipping at John's nipples. John put his hands in Sherlock's hair as directed.

"Yes, that's right, now pull a little. Ah! Not hard, just a little bit. Yes, like that, more hair, right, like that, that's better. Really, John, haven't you ever pulled a girl's hair?"

"Well, no actually, that's not exactly something I— ahhhhhh Christ."

Sherlock was dragging his teeth back and forth across John's chest as his hands worked down his sides, to his hips and then grabbing John's backside. The robe, John now saw, was about as effective against Sherlock's assault as suntan oil would be. Sherlock pulsed his erection into John's thigh, higher, and higher, while Sherlock smiled into his face. John's breathing was starting to become very fast and short and he was getting a little frightened. Of what? Really, though of what? John tried to reason with himself. I've been in Afghanistan, after all. What is it? The unknown, merely, he thought.

"You should try it, Molly likes it. Now, John," Sherlock pulled himself up off John, and undid the tie to John's dressing gown as he spoke, again revealing John's glorious erection. "I won't be able to talk to you for a little while, all right?" And with the most wicked of his expressions, he descended, slowly to John's cock, and took it in his mouth, as he maintained eye contact with his friend.

"Oh Jesus, Oh god." John hissed, but to Sherlock's delight, John arched his back into the sensation. After a few strokes, though, Sherlock released John's cock, and licked his way down to his testicles, taking each one in his mouth, teasing them, and licking them voraciously, as John whimpered a mixed protestation. Then Sherlock's tongue ran underneath John's scrotum, and back to his –

"Holy mother of god, Sherlock, what are you doing?" John's body tensed and froze, but he continued to take in the sensation of Sherlock's tongue on what John perceived to be the most vulnerable spot on his body. Then he felt his friend stop, and blow onto the spot he was just tonguing.

"Hmmm, I believe the vernacular used by today's youth is 'rimming.' What's wrong? Not good?" Sherlock continued tonguing John's opening for only another few seconds, then popped his head up again.

"Molly can you go and get what I asked you for?"

"Oh, yes," Molly assented and scampered out of the room.

"Wait, what? Fuck off."

John tried to get up, but Sherlock restrained him lightly.

"Shhh, John, stay here with me, please don't go. Please trust me a little. She's going to get something for me."

John paused. He felt Sherlock release him, and knew he could get out of bed easily, but still felt somehow honor bound to remain. Sherlock hauled himself up to face John, and then lay next to him, pulling John's arm a little, directing him to lie on his side as well. John complied and the two friends faced one another.

"What on earth have you done to me, and what are you about to do?"

"You have been ravaged, John Watson, and thank you very much by the way." said Molly re-entering the bedroom.

"I'm done, ah – assaulting you for now. That was quite delightful, by the way I - I hope you – well. Never mind." Sherlock stroked John's neck and chin as he spoke, "I just want to show you something else, all right?"

"That was about an hour's worth of fouls, Sherlock."

"Hmm. Did you enjoy any of it?"

"Ah-." John was speechless. If he said no, it was a lie, but if he said yes, -.

"Hmhmhm, John, love, I'll have to take that as a 'yes,'"

"Sherlock, did you just call me 'John, love?'"

"Mmmm, no, I don't think so." Sherlock chuckled at his use of the endearment.

"Just, don't for fuck's sake say it in front of Greg or Mrs. Hudson, or anyone else, please?"

Sherlock couldn't suppress his beaming smile at John and felt quite overwhelmed with affection for his friend at this moment. He ran his fingers through John's hair, traced his ear, his lips. He leaned in and kissed John's temple, and then so tenderly, his cheek. He kissed him again, and drew back, observing him. He could tell that John was resigned, he was really only enduring all of this, allowing it. But it moved Sherlock deeply that John continued to try to please him. He must remember not to force things like this very often.

"No, Greg and Mrs. Hudson wouldn't understand, that's sure," said Molly who was partly obscured by Sherlock. John heard a condom being unwrapped, and he raised his head to see what she was doing, but she was blocked by Sherlock's body.

"Don't worry, John, everything's all right. I promise. Will you – ah, put your – well, come here, come closer, just a little. Put your hands, look, you don't have to do anything, just, yes, that's right, like that, that's fine. Ready Molly? I think we can start with two."

Then Sherlock clamped a hand at the back of John's neck, looking into his eyes.

Molly coated her condom covered fingers with the olive oil she'd brought from the kitchen and pressed her hand between Sherlock's cheeks. She easily located his puckered opening and pressed her fingers deep inside. She withdrew somewhat, and thrust gently back inside, keeping a gentle easy pace.

John was forced to look into Sherlock's eyes as Molly apparently sank two of her fingers into Sherlock. Sherlock's color changed to a scarlet in his face as well as down his throat and across his chest. His eyes glazed over, his expression changed to one of deep, open innocent sexuality. The mischief maker was gone and there remained this vulnerable, exposed young man John barely recognized. Sherlock swallowed, clearly trying to collect his thoughts. He reached his fingers to his friend's jaw line.

"John. You've ah – allowed yourself be very vulnerable with me – I wanted to, ah, reciprocate a little."

"Sherlock, you don't have to -."

"Shh, it's a pleasure. And I just wanted to. Ahhh, that's - that's good Molly. John, I – ah, ah – I just wanted to tell you, that this, - this is enough for me. If you never want to go further than this, ah, with me, I'm really, honestly fine with this, all right? I never want to make you feel – well, I don't know –ah - was it - at all - ?."

"It was – it was fine, Sherlock – It was fine – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be -."

"Hmmm. That's all right. You don't have to say any more. I'll take that as a compliment."

John looked down, abashed. He didn't want to disappoint his friend, but he couldn't say more about this experience than what he had. He was too mixed up, he was too raw, it was too soon. He had a lot of sorting out to do in his head.

Sherlock reached a hand back to Molly, palm up.

"Molly? Not too much."

Molly poured a little oil into Sherlock's palm, and Sherlock drew his hand back.

"May I?" He reached down between their bodies and took both his own, and John's cock in his hand, and started to stroke them together. John hissed and arched his back into the pure pleasure of it.

"Good?" he asked John again, and John nodded his assent.

"All right, John." said Sherlock, and then began to pump his hand, in earnest, as he kissed and bit at John's neck. But it wasn't long before the younger man spoke again

"Oh, I – I don't think I can -."

"Me neither," John's voice was tight and high. Molly saw the state of things and increased the pace of her thrusts. Their climaxes were imminent when Sherlock leaned in to John's ear and whispered,

"John. John, say my name. I know – ah -it's idiotic, but I need –."

"Sh-, Sherlock, Sherlock-." The two men came almost simultaneously, spattering one another's bodies and Sherlock's bed with ejaculate. Molly set aside the little dish of olive oil, and curled up behind Sherlock, her arms around his waist, while her two men basked in their post orgasmic blush. Sherlock pulled John tightly against him, and slung a leg over his hip, possessively, and John allowed it. John even pressed his face into Sherlock's chest, breathing hot and wet against his skin.

Some hours later, the regular breathing patterns of three accompanied the advance of a yellow dawn light in the room. Molly was the first to wake. She slipped out from behind Sherlock, and carefully rose from the bed. She stretched, and turned to look at her men still in one another's arms and grew weak with the beauty and innocence of it. She didn't question her part in the triad, but knew the real crux of the relationship lay between these two. She smiled ruefully. Things would change now, she thought. It was exciting, but frightening at the same time. She wondered if she was strong enough to hang on through to the next development, and whatever it might bring.

Phew, there you have it – Molly will have another night of her own choice another time, that will be different . . . That will be later – I have some new chapters I'm working on with some developments . . .

Thanks to all those of you have stopped to read and review and pm. I love you! And thanks to all you favers, and followers! Whenever I get a review, it's a wonderful inspiration to continue working on these stories!

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Hope you have a great week!

Jenn of the Glenn