Break-in Before Coffee

Molly woke before the break of dawn, the pre dawn light having gently coaxed her from her dreams. She recognized John's regular breathing beside her: stlll asleep. When they were first married, John was always awake before her with coffee on in the kitchen. But after only a few weeks, he'd gotten used to staying in bed with her longer and longer, and now he let her get up earlier than he did. She was glad he was able to relax a little in this way, glad she could help him to it, and it was gratifying to see that it seemed to please him, too. He seemed to have fewer and fewer of the nightmares that had first plagued him upon his return from Afghanistan, and which she saw him experience rather regularly when they'd first started sleeping together. She tried to get him to talk about the dreams, but he demurred, and told her he'd save them up for his therapist. That had made her feel a little useless. But he had become more and more relaxed with her, more and more confident in their relationship. It began to seem to her to be the beginning of a long thread of real happiness in her life. In their life together. And here he was, just before the first rays of the sun, sound asleep beside her. She reached her arms around him, pulling herself close to him, and he involuntarily did the same, half waking. She reveled in the comfort he gave her, the safety, the seeming permanence.

"Morning," he mumbled, kissing her, still half asleep, but smiling, happy to be awake in her arms, happy to be with her.

"I love you so much," Molly said "It's nice to have you all to myself once in a while."

"Mmm," said John, "You miss him, I know."

"Yes, of course, but you -."

"Mmm," John was kissing her now, "No, you miss him. So do I."

"Family business? I wonder what?"

"I don't know, but Mycroft had to go, too. Bit of money involved, I reckon. You have to sign things quite often, don't you? And all at the same time and in the same place?" said John.

"I really wouldn't know."

"Neither would I."

"I hope he's ok."

"Mmm," John's kissing was more insistent now.

"M'worried."

"Mmm, I know, me too," John was moving slowly on top of his wife, now, gently moving her legs apart with one of his knees, but slowly and gently, rocking them into position, slow, unhurried.

"He said he would see someone, that he would take steps to find someone good."

"Mmm, did he?"

"Well, he told me that. He wouldn't lie.

"Well, it depends. Yeah, he would, he would lie, Molly. Did you push him a little? Sort of push the issue at all?"

"No."

"Sure? Molly?" He continued to kiss her, he chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss and tongue her breasts.

"Mmm. Worried."

"Yes, I know, but we're looking after him. We're keeping an eye on him, no?"

"Mmm, yes, love."

"We'll sort it out. We'll all sort it out together, yeah?"

"Mmm, love you, John."

"Love you, too."

They melted into one another, comfortably, slowly, their tender familiarity delighted Molly anew. My best friend, my love, my rock. As he entered her Molly thought, who else? Who else could give her all this? Who but John? And then it seemed a pit opened in the bottom of her stomach as she thought, Sherlock.

John moved on her, deeply in her and they vocalized together, still kissing, then John pulled out.

"Oh, John," said Molly, the separation surprising her a little.

"Not going anywhere." John trailed kisses down her breast and abdomen, then rubbed his mouth into her sex, opening her, tasting her, tonguing her slowly, easily, conversationally. She rolled her hips against his movements, unhurried, relaxed for some long moments.

"John," she whispered, "John, come back to me, come back inside, darling, please."

Sherlock leaned in the doorway of the couple's bedroom, having just broken in their front door with a lock pick, a ridiculously simple operation. He'd have to see to their flat's security at some point soon.

He'd gotten away from the family home and bloody Mycroft earlier than previously planned, and managed to catch a much too early train back to the city. He knew Molly's and John's schedules, and he thought he'd catch the two of them at coffee, he was dying for a cup himself. But here they were in bed still, and quite delightfully occupied. He smiled, just drinking in their proximity, it calmed him, fed him, enchanted him. He wanted to barge in, surprise them, but he wanted to give them their space, too. So, for now he watched as John entered Molly, lifting her knees to his shoulders, eliciting appreciative moans from her.

Sherlock took careful note. It was all slowness and confidence. All gentleness and loving patience with John. And yet, Sherlock knew that behind that affable front, that open, friendly expression, there was a very tightly wound works to be found within John Watson. He'd seen his friend angry many times, certainly (not to mention his return after his jump off that damned roof), but he suspected there was some part deep inside this reasonable and intelligent man that was enraged over something. Had it been what he'd seen in action, he wondered? Or as a doctor both in general and in the service? Sherlock remembered a laughing jag that John had had over some item in the paper to do with parliament. Some infuriating waste of time and money, Sherlock remembered it had been anger that had set off John's laughter. The laughter had not been born out of merriment but of rage, and that rage bubbled quite noticeably to the surface but quickly disappeared, under control. A formidable man, thought Sherlock. Lucky to know him, to have him, have them both.

He felt greedy and selfish wanting to barge into their bed and surprise them with his presence. He really must just take himself off to the kitchen and make them all coffee, for when they were done, he thought. His reverie was broken by the sound of Molly softly sobbing. It quickly ripped at him to hear her and be so close to her but unable to do anything about it. What what what is going on is she in pain has John said something I didn't hear them speak what on earth could be wrong they seemed ok just a moment ago what should I do what can I do?

John's separation feelings regarding Sherlock didn't have to do with Molly as much as Molly's feelings for Sherlock had to do with John. When Molly was enjoying John, either in bed, or in general, she felt guilty if Sherlock wasn't around. It was as simple as that. Whenever this happened to Molly, it triggered John's own feelings, especially in these intensely emotional moments. His own feelings about Sherlock often manifested themselves when he was quite alone. If Molly was out of town, or much less often, if Sherlock sent him off on his own on some leg of a case. He was quite adept at handling these ghosts of abandonment that lingered from the time when Sherlock faked his death. But when he saw Molly's guilt float up, especially when they were together without their friend, his own feelings would come like a rock out of a sling shot and hit him right between the eyes. It had happened quite often when he was with Molly initially, but then less and less as time went on. As they became more accustomed to one another and their bond deepened, these episodes had almost entirely disappeared, but here it came again. Now here they were again, both in tears, that dull aching absence between them, driving them into one another with greater and greater speed and force, trying to rid themselves of that empty hollow sensation.

Sherlock continued to listen at the door and heard Molly laugh through her tears.

"I thought we were done with this, John, love?"

"So did I, I thought, oh, Molly, god, it's been months, hasn't it been, oh god."

Sherlock was stunned to hear that John seemed to be sobbing, too, even as the pair struggled to their climax.

"Oh, shit, Molly, oh god. He'll be back, back in a few hours."

"I know, I know, oh, John, I think it's just, ah, his trip."

Sherlock froze. They were talking about him? They seemed to be referring to him and his absence. Were they missing him, too? Even as they had one another? Even as they lay together? His chest seized with emotion and guilt and yearning and love. What what what should I do jump into bed with them in the middle of their orgasms or let them cry it out without me then reveal myself what a prat that would make me they love me they love me they miss me they need me they want me as much as I need love miss want love love love them too stupid stupid stupid shut up shut up shut up.

Sherlock properly entered the room.

"Please carry on, don't let me disturb you."

"Sh-, Sh- Sherlock!" Molly went over the edge almost at the sound of his voice, and John quickly followed, also with his friend's name on his lips.

Sherlock chuckled and undressed down to his boxers, and slid in on Molly's side. He put his arms across John's waist as he still lay on top of Molly, and tucked his face into the crook of Molly's neck. He breathed in their scent, feeling the last waves of their climax wash away, and their breathing become more regular. Then, John slid off Molly to the other side of her and Molly turned to Sherlock, wrapping herself around him, kissing him and Sherlock let himself melt into her, kissing her back as she straddled him, more out of playfulness than anything. Then he broke away from her, and looked up at John who was kneeling up in the bed. Sherlock noted that his face was relieved and smiling, but still registered in part, the anxiety of moments before, when he didn't know that his friend was standing in the room. Molly slid to Sherlock's right side, and Sherlock held out his left hand to John.

"Come, John. Put your arms around me? Like Molly?" But John averted his eyes.

"Please, John, I - need you. We both do." Sherlock reached his arm to his friend.

"John, please, it's all right." Molly reached out a hand, too.

"Molly's got this side and I need you to –." Sherlock's breath hitched slightly and he stopped, still holding his arm out. They both recognized that Sherlock's own anxious condition had kicked in. Sherlock made eye contact with his friend, and John stretched out next to Sherlock, allowing his friend to put his arm around him, as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"Thank you, much better. Yes, that's much better." They were quiet for some moments then Sherlock spoke again.

"I didn't mean to barge in, but I did get back a little early."

"Seems as though you got here just in time, ahaha."

"Yes, Sherlock, just on the dot."

"Hmm." But the scene he'd just witnessed still troubled him, and Sherlock felt he had to address it. It wasn't exactly his area, concerned inquiry, but he forced himself to form the words.

"Molly, John, what's all this crying in bed?"

"I know, it's ridiculous, but it still happens once in a while," Molly offered.

"Still happens?"

Then John explained more concretely. He explained as carefully as he could that this was precisely what they had gone through when they'd begun seeing each other, before they'd approached Sherlock to join their partnership. They'd finally been able to identify it as the emptiness they each felt in Sherlock's absence. They were able to identify it, and forgive one another for not being able to take care of it. Sherlock listened carefully.

"I see," he said when John was finished "A bit of anxiety all around, then? How lovely for all of us." He paused and spoke again.

"I'm not going anywhere. As long as you -. That is -."

Molly leaned up to kiss him, as she heard the hitch in his breath as he hesitated.

"Shhhhhh. Everyone is safe and accounted for. The need for further articulation at this juncture is not required," said Molly.

"What? Ahaha."

"Ah," said Sherlock, "Just as you say."