In which John and Sherlock make it up.

John gets personal

Previously in 'John's Interludes for Three'– from The Thames -II- 4 days and 5 nights.

Sherlock was interested in seeing if John would make a first move, as he had in the park this afternoon when he'd grasped Sherlock's hand. Sherlock had found it quite thrilling and hoped for more initiation on the doctor's part, but was also content to wait, the build in suspense being something he now quite enjoyed. But seeing that John was expectant himself, waiting for Sherlock, he continued. He pointed his steepled fingers, which he held under his chin, toward the doctor.

"Good, yes, the kitchen was, huh – Oh, I was wondering, by the way, if the term soixante-neuf held any particular interest for you?"

Sherlock saw his friend stiffen, and then swallow mightily.

"Bedroom. Now," John turned on his heel and strode toward Sherlock's room.

"John, you're brilliant, you're fantastic!" Sherlock lept out of his chair and followed John to his room.

The Thames –III-Soixante-Neuf and more . . .

John rarely allowed Sherlock to hold or kiss him while they were standing up. Sherlock suspected he didn't like feeling diminutive next to him. But today, once the pair had entered the inner sanctum of Sherlock's bedroom, John didn't seem to have that problem, and easily, comfortably joined his friend in a searing kiss which found the two fumbling with one another's clothing. Sherlock had gotten John's shirt unbuttoned, and John had managed to slide the blue dressing gown off his friend's shoulders, when Sherlock paused.

"John?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want to – tell me?"

John pulled away from the bite mark he was about to leave on his friend's neck.

"Tell you what?"

"You know – tell me – what to do."

"Oh, I see." John pulled back from the pair's embrace, one which John would have thought was fairly unstoppable, and looked at Sherlock. His friend smiled a reassuring though challenging smile, but John also noticed that his Sherlock's breathing was quickened and fairly shallow, and a blotchy color was rising on his pale skin, his chest and neck as well as his face. John smiled, twisting one of his friend's nipples through his t-shirt, then he dropped on the bed, his knees dangling, leaning up on his elbows.

"All right," John said. He looked as his friend, who waited, expectant, still breathing hard. Can he handle it? Sherlock wondered. Can he take control of it without prompting from anyone? I know he can, but will he now? Or will he get self-conscious? Or that damned inner voice thing of his, will it question him now?

"Sherlock," John began. Sherlock took a deep breath. "Take off your shirt. Don't do a burlesque."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, grateful for the release, then opened them, and shrugged out of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, naturally with only a little embarrassment in front of John. John took in his friend's musculature, his color, the ripple of muscle under the skin as he moved, but most of all he noted his elegance in every movement he made. Sherlock's color continued to be quite deep and John had a full view of his friend's blush spreading across his chest.

"Very nice, love," John noticed for the first time that Sherlock's hair was a little damp in spots.

"Did you - take a bath for me?"

Sherlock smiled his little half smile.

"Yes."

"Hmm, that's lovely. Thank you. Take off your pajamas."

He's doing it, he's able to do it – can he maintain this sort of gentle, casual command? Sherlock wondered. It suits him perfectly and it's making me dizzy. Sherlock noticed he was starting to shake a little, as well. It's absolutely delightful.

Sherlock shucked off his pajamas and stood before John, now naked and half hard, breathing a little irregularly. He raked his fingers through is hair for want of anything else to do with them.

"Take a deep breath, relax," said John, smiling and locking eyes with his friend. Sherlock complied and watched as John watched him in the soft light of the bedroom, lit by a single lamp. John took his time, and he could feel Sherlock get a little antsy, but wasn't hurried by him at all as he looked at each part of his friend from head to toe. Sherlock immediately noticed what the doctor was doing and watched as he shifted his gaze from Sherlock's hair to his face to his neck to his shoulders and downward. Each time John's eyes moved over a new part of Sherlock's anatomy, Sherlock felt it as a caress, almost a physical touch, and he was struggling to maintain control of his breathing. When the doctor's eyes came to rest on Sherlock's cock, the younger man was almost completely hard, and was starting to breathe irregularly again.

"Deep breath," the doctor soothed, drawling out his words just as he would to a patient in the clinic. Sherlock smiled at this and complied. "That's right. Relax, try to relax. God, you are so lovely." John continued to allow his eyes to roam down Sherlock's body.

"Turn around for me, let me look at your back." The doctor's tone was perfect for Sherlock. Commanding, yet still somehow casual, gentle. It was very much the tone he used in their more special exercises, but he had managed to take out any sense of question, and only required attention and obedience. It was heavenly. Sherlock complied presenting his back for the doctor's further inspection. Sherlock couldn't watch John's gaze shift down his body, but his backside felt warm, and then hot, and he imagined that it was John's gaze that was warming him in this way. He also imagined his arse was quite flushed, too, and this was confirmed when the doctor spoke.

"Lovely shade of pink, Sherlock. Come here, lie on the bed next to me. Lie on your stomach across the bed."

Sherlock approached and lay across the bed next to John, who stretched out next to him. He gripped Sherlock's backside, and rubbed it, stroking each cheek. Then, he leaned up, and pinned Sherlock's shoulders to the mattress, nuzzling his neck, biting him.

"Keep your head and shoulders down, but kneel up for me, love."

Sherlock felt the power in John's grip on his shoulders as the doctor kneaded his muscles. Sherlock brought his knees, one at a time, up under him, presenting his backside high in the air, his elbows remaining on the mattress his head resting on his arms.

"Good," said John, "Now, spread your legs." John rose, moving away from Sherlock's side.

What is he planning? Sherlock's excitement was mounting. He's still fully clothed. What on earth can he want from this? He's only ever been completely reticent when we've – Ah!

Sherlock felt John position himself behind him, between his friend's knees, placing his hands on his hips, stroking and kneading him from his waist to his backside to the backs of his thighs. The doctor's hands finally came to Sherlock's arse and he stroked the skin, in circles, and then kneaded the muscles under the skin, alternately gripping and stroking. Sherlock felt the doctor nudge his knees even farther apart, widening the spread of his legs, giving the doctor a better view of his friend's bottom and his puckered hole.

Just looking and petting? Is he going to - use his finger? Does he have a – some toy or other? But there was nothing, he didn't bring anything with him - What is he after? What does he – oh my god!

Sherlock felt the doctor lean down and slowly lap his tongue across Sherlock's opening, and then probe him there with the tip of his tongue. The doctor lapped his tongue again across the hole in a long slow lick that was exploratory and experimental, Sherlock felt, but there was something else, John was feeling something else and Sherlock could feel it from him – Oh, god Sherlock thought – love and care. It's as if – it's like when he's with Molly. Oh John. The younger man felt his face go vividly red with embarrassment. He'd never had anyone do this for him before, nor had he experienced such thorough care for his benefit. The first time he'd been with Molly he'd felt the same way, but John was even more – ah – so slow, so thorough, completely unreserved, oh, John. He grabbed a pillow, and buried his face in it, letting out a long low moan of pleasure, of relief, of long denied needs finally met and released. He felt John run his hands up his back, to his neck, griping and kneading him.

"That's right, let it out, but you can let me hear you if you like. You don't have to use a pillow, love."

Sherlock's body was racked with sobs suddenly as his friend continued to rim him, slowly, patiently. Sherlock tried to relax and let the tears come, or not, as they would.

"Ah, that's lovely. It's ok. We're here now. I love you too." John whispered as he continued to lap at his friend, caressing his skin, kneading his muscles. He took his time, never rushing and at length he pressed his tongue into Sherlock as far as he could, and fucked Sherlock with his tongue. John felt Sherlock shaking under his hands, but he could tell it wasn't because he was near sexual release. It was the unexpected intimacy of the act, and it had shattered his friend.

"Oh, god, John, - John."

John continued for some minutes more, never adding a finger, only using his tongue, only using patience. At length he withdrew his mouth, and made a circle of tiny kisses around and around Sherlock's hole, chuckling a little to himself as he went. Molly rarely did this for John, though he'd always liked it, but didn't feel compelled to ask her. He'd do it for her occasionally, but she didn't seem to care for it one way or another. It didn't concern him enough to bring it up. It was almost pure pleasure, John thought, and he had decided that he would do this for his friend sometime soon. He wanted to do it to get past his own fears about this kind of contact, but also wanted to offer something special to his friend, to assure him he was trying to move forward with their physical relationship.

John withdrew from Sherlock's backside, still stroking and caressing his skin until Sherlock's sobbing quieted and he felt his friend take a deep breath and relax again. Then John gently reached for one of Sherlock's knees, gently guiding him.

"Lie down, love. That's it, relax." John watched Sherlock stretch his legs out, lowering his hips to the bed, his erection slightly relaxed. John continued to stroke Sherlock's flank and backside as his friend rearranged himself on the bed, then John stood up from the bed, and watched as Sherlock turned his head toward him, and rested it on the pillow.

"All right?" John said, as he shrugged out of his clothes.

"Yes, I was just a little -ahm." Sherlock cleared his throat, then he looked at John, his face a question mark. "John, what have - what have you been – John, did you do some reading or some kind of research or something? Or are you on some kind of medication or other drug? I mean, to what do I owe the very great pleasure -?"

John was naked, now and sat on the bed, his hips at his friend's head. He stroked Sherlock's hair and rubbed his neck gently as he spoke.

"Oh, I see. You mean, how have I made such a complete turn around?"

"Well, yes. Yes, John."

"Ahaha. Fair enough. Well, I think I had – something happen to me – a change, a sort of psychic break through or something - the other night, the night we -."

"The night we used the blindfold. Yes, that was – John, that was - ."

"Yes. Yes, it was." John felt the blood rush from his head, his semi flaccid state vanishing quickly as he remembered Sherlock in his bonds and blindfold. "It was as though - a switch, a toggle - was thrown. Something inside – I don't know – but, but - it's not as though – as though I want to - Ahaha."

"Ah, no, you don't feel the need to suddenly – run to the clubs – hmmhmm," Sherlock chuckled at the image of John in some black leather outfit, queuing up at one of the – No,no, banish the thought, not my John.

"Ahaha. No, no. It's - only you. And Molly," John continued to stroke Sherlock's hair and rub his neck.

"Yes, you. You, John. And Molly." Sherlock's eyelids were heavy as he gave himself over to John's touch, while still maintaining eye contact with him.

I also can't believe how incredibly beautiful you are physically, John thought, intoxicated as he touched the man. Your eyelids, your lashes, your skin. If only you weren't so goddamned tall. But your eyes, your mouth – oh my god, your mouth. John pressed his thumb between Sherlock's lips, and Sherlock smiled as well as he could, enjoying the promise of whatever was to come next as he sucked and gently chewed John's finger. John smiled back, then withdrew his thumb as he spoke.

"Now, what was that French terminology you were talking about earlier?"

John stretched out alongside Sherlock's body, his hips at Sherlock's head, sliding down, to stroke and kiss his hips and cock. He palmed his friend's balls, eliciting a hiss from Sherlock, then took his tip in his mouth, sucking and teasing with his tongue. Sherlock was already taking John's length deep in his own mouth, swallowing against him, pressing his knees apart, kneading his backside painfully gripping, digging his fingers into the flesh. John stiffened a little, then tried to regulate his breathing and relaxed into Sherlock's sometimes desperate, rough touch, finding once again that it wasn't so hard to release himself to the pleasure of it.

"Ah, Sherlock," John protested weakly, as his friend gently pressed a finger deep inside him.

"Shh, John, love, you like it, remember? Just relax."

John did relax, and returned the favor, sinking one of his own fingers into his friend's hole, thrusting gently, then quickly adding another. Sherlock's only response was to hum his appreciation onto John's cock. Sherlock added another finger, pressing two into John, now in gentle but increasingly urgent thrusts, as the younger man got close to his release. John noticed his friend's increasingly desperate movement, the muscles in his legs, backside and abdomen clenching and unclenching harder and faster. The doctor concentrated on brushing against Sherlock's sweet spot each time he thrust his fingers into him and Sherlock's response was immediate as he moaned loudly, and thrust his hips harder and harder, finally releasing into John's mouth. Inexpert though he was at this new activity, John swallowed most of what Sherlock had to offer, but lost contact for a moment, and caught a rope of ejaculate in the face, laughing it off. He reached for the tissues at the bedside table. Sherlock relaxed as his spasms ebbed away.

"What's funny?" He asked, a little defensive.

"Nothing, love, I got some in my face."

"Oh, I see – sorry about that."

"Don't be ridiculous. All right?"

"Oh, god, how can you ask? John, love. John." Sherlock reached a hand to John's leg, stroking him, gripping him.

John recognized Sherlock's usual post coital reverence and wonder at having people in his life, people who would do these filthy fabulous wonderful dirty things with him, and who would love him for who he was. The doctor tried to remember not to brush off what seemed like hyperbole on Sherlock's part, and honor his friend's sense of the beauty, fragility and impossibility of their three-sided relationship. He tried to reassure, to soothe.

"Shh, we're here now."

"Yes, I know – John." Sherlock rearranged himself so he could rest his head on his friend's abdomen, and quickly took John's length back into his mouth, stroking his balls. He moved slowly, now, with more assurance, less desperation.

"Ah, Sherlock – that's – that's -." John placed a hand in Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock hummed his agreement as he teased around the tip of John with the tip of his tongue, trying to identify the taste of him. Salty. Bitter. A hint of pine. Then he sucked him hard, letting his mouth sink slowly down the doctor's shaft.

"Oh, Jesus."

Sherlock reached for John's other hand, lacing his fingers together with the doctor's as he slowly built the pace of his mouth's thrusts down the doctor's shaft. As he worked John's cock in his mouth, he catalogued all this friend's responses to the various stimuli he was giving him, what turned him on, what speeds, what spots, what moves, what degree of lubricity, how many fingers . . . Then he heard John whimper a little.

"Fuck, shit, oh, god."

And now, the litany of obscenities and Molly's name. Sherlock identified John's approach to orgasm, and knew his friend wouldn't take much longer to come. Will it be my name this time? Will my name be added to the litany? Sherlock wondered, picking up his pace, letting go of John's hand, and gripping him around his waist hard, digging his fingers into his backside.

"Motherfucker, oh, god, Sherlock, fuck, fuck -."

Ah, thought Sherlock. Lovely. Molly, too? I hope he says Molly's name, too. Sherlock increased the pace of his fingers thrusting into John and was rewarded with a long stream of filthy words which ended with both his and Molly's name, but mostly 'fuck' and 'shit.' John came rather ferociously into Sherlock's mouth, bucking against him hard, completely unselfconsciously, and gripping his friend's hair, pulling his mouth closer to the root of his cock, his litany reduced to just the repetition of the word 'fuck' at the very end. Sherlock swallowed what he could and slowly released John from his mouth with an audible pop. He was gratified to hear a disappointed sounding coo from John at the loss of contact. Oh, adorable, irresistible. Then the younger man slid up in the bed and pressed his face into the crook of John's neck, throwing an arm across him, nuzzling him, kissing and biting him softly as John lay in his after glow.

So like a child, John thought as he came back to himself a little, so loving and giving and selfless. So happy to just be with us, so undemanding. So present, so in the moment. Incredible how, despite his persona outside we three, he's able to just enjoy us, just be. How lovely he is. John put his arms around his friend and squeezed him hard until Sherlock let out a small sound of breath taken away, then a chuckle.

"Feels good."

"Mmm. Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"When you – said that thing, a few weeks ago, about – your mother never touching you when you were small – did you – did you -."

John stopped when he felt Sherlock stiffen in his arms. His friend didn't speak, so the doctor felt he had to go on. He was hesitant. Was he doing more harm than good? He had to ask, he couldn't just leave it here, now.

"I mean, that kind of thing can have a – the long term psychological effects on a child -."

Sherlock pulled his head away from John's neck, his eyes on fire, his mouth contorted.

"John. John– can you shut up, please? Don't you think I know the long-term psychological effects on a child if it's fucking mother never touches it?" Sherlock spat the words out and rolled to get off the bed, but John held him hard.

"Don't, I'm sorry. Don't do that, no, stay here, please, Sherlock. Sherlock, stop it."

The two struggled for only a few moments and Sherlock gave in, stiffly at first, then with abandon to John's touch, his strength, his gentle command. John held him around the waist, and stroked his hair the way he knew he liked it. He brushed his friend's face with his lips. And then he found himself murmuring his friend's name over and over. After doing it two or three times, he thought it might be a little odd, but he found it soothed Sherlock, like the hair stroking. He continued, just very quietly murmuring his name. He's like a child, so like a child, John thought, He tried to allow enough time to pass before he continued. He couldn't just let the matter lie where it at fallen. He hoped Sherlock would trust him enough to just listen.

"Ok, hey, – I ask because – I ask – oh, god. I haven't asked until now, because I thought it was a little personal, but now - well, frankly, I'm sucking your cock, so -"

The two had a small laugh together, a release of tension, relief.

"So – I'm asking now, because - because I want to know. Because I – we both do, Molly and I, we care about you – but look, I won't, all right? I won't ask - I'll wait until you tell me. If you want to, all right? Just know that I want to hear about it, I want to know about it, when and if you want to tell me. Is that – is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course. I'm – I apologize – that was extremely – well – it was childish, wasn't it?"

"Never mind that. Will you – keep that in mind? What I've just said? Please don't brush it off, love."

"Yes." Sherlock paused. "Yes, that is – acceptable. "When I'm – when I want to tell you," He finished in a hushed tone.

"Ok. Good – thanks." John reached for the duvet, which had migrated south to the edge of the bed, and flipped it up and over them, then he took his friend in his arms again, and squeezed him again, as hard as he could, until Sherlock made a little breathy sound.

"Umph. Feels good," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, it does."

The dawn light bathed the room in a soft glow as Sherlock blinked back to wakefulness, but it hadn't been the light that woke him. It was John's soft touch, his lips on Sherlock's cheek, his hands between Sherlock's legs.

"Hey, ok?" asked his friend. Sherlock noticed that John's role as a doctor seemed to seep into his private associations particularly intimate ones. His constantly pushing water at him, food, sleep. He smiled Ah. He felt John slip away from his cheek and neck, down to his abdomen, planting careful kisses there, stroking him. Morning. Am I already –? Yes, completely erect, how embarrassing.

"Mmm. Fine." Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair.

"Good," John took Sherlock's rock hard erection in his hand and began gently stroking him. John spoke again.

"Tonight?"

"Mmm?" Sherlock was still a little groggy with sleep and now his senses were being further distracted with John's attentions this morning, this fine sunny day. Is it sunny? Sherlock wondered. He noticed that John was fully clothed, already, ready for work, but here he was back in bed with him, ready to -, to – how delightful.

"Will tonight be ok?"

"Ah, what – for what? Ah." Sherlock gasped as John took his erection into his mouth a little quickly and roughly, stroking up and down with some urgency. He paused a moment, leaving Sherlock to speak again.

"You know." And John was on him again.

"What? John? Oh, oh, John, that's -."

"Mmm," John agreed, humming onto his shaft. John used one, two and then three fingers in quick succession as he tried to bring Sherlock off quickly. The doctor was about to be late for work, but determined to take care of Sherlock before he left, since he had such a monster of an erection this morning. He also felt a little sheepish at having broached the subject of his friend's childhood with him the night before, and made a bit of a hash of it. He wanted to kiss it and make it better. He picked up his pace and was quickly rewarded with Sherlock's release. John didn't wait for his friend to recover before he spoke.

"Sorry I had to be quick, I'm about to be late, I'll see you later."

"John, let me – won't you let me -?"

"Ahaha, no, no – I'm late."

"Molly," Sherlock said, "Don't forget to call – shall I - ?"

"I won't, thanks, no that's ok, I'll call." John rose from the bed, now, and retrieved his bag, but Sherlock managed to sit up before he left the room.

"John? 'will tonight be ok' for what?"

John stopped and returned to Sherlock's side, sliding a hand to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and whispering in his ear.

"To have you. To make love to you, to fuck you – to slip my cock into you and pump you until you lose your mind -?"

"Oh, god, John, yes, yes, with Molly?"

"Yes, of course - with Molly." John kissed Sherlock and let go of him, moving to the door.

"John, for godssake, come back! Just let me -."

"Ahaha. No, just – I'm fine - I have to go. It's only a short shift. Usual time?"

"Oh, god, John."

"Ahaha. See you later." John pulled a face and left the room.

Sherlock heard John wash his hands in the bathroom and then leave the flat. Then he heard the slam of the downstairs door. He looked at the clock. What in the name of god am I going to occupy my mind with until five?! I'll have to go jogging today oh no I would have to purchase proper footwear what a bore well that would pass the time no I'll sleep I'll sleep I'll get some I'll never sleep today that's ridiculous the goddamn kitchen is sparkling clean I could clean the goddamn bathroom that would take me 30 minutes at the very most I could I can I could –

Sherlock's mind drifted to John and he tried to imagine for the thousandth time what it would be like if – I'll never survive this day oh I must go to the chemists I have to go to the chemists and get an enema probably very little to worry about but it's only polite isn't it? Purchase more lubricant and what about a, a, a, something to oh god! Sherlock felt himself blush as he imagined buying a dildo from a specialty shop - or a butt plug. Let's not get carried away though it would certainly pass the time interesting John Molly Molly John John Molly Molly John.

He looked at the clock – seven and a half hours and all he had to really do was go to the chemist's, and then actually administer the enema, but that would be done at the last minute. He cast his mind to John's wake up call this morning and smiled at this psychic break-through to which he owed his undying gratitude. He cast his mind back further to the night of the blindfold, and remembered being taken quite by surprise when John was so affectionate with him and then later when he had – his mouth on me, his mouth – Sherlock let the images of that night and of other nights with his lovely couple replay themselves in his mind and let himself just enjoy them, moving on to the new images as he finished with one. So many, now he thought gratefully, hungrily. And many more to come? He wondered? He hoped so. If he had a choice, he would stay with them through eternity, but he knew that life was a twisted, cruelly unpredictable affair. Surely they'll want to think about children, soon, why do they not consider children? Or perhaps they are, they do, but don't bring me into the conversation? Thinking up the right way to – to—break it off with me? Sherlock put these thoughts aside, though he knew they were not unfounded. But he was confident that John and Molly would be direct with him if he asked them about it, all he had to do was ask. But he couldn't. It was too – too – nauseating. Such a cliché. Just enjoy the moment. And he found he was able to, and he was deeply grateful.

Sherlock drifted, finally into a light comfortable sleep as he played the images of recent and memorable nights over in his mind and he drifted into a dream state.

Mycroft figured largely in the dream. Mainly because he seemed to be quite large, his head, particularly was larger even than his large dream-body size warranted, like the drawings in Alice and Wonderland, the Queen of Hearts. And dream-Mycroft was standing with his huge head and face quite close to Sherlock's, talking and talking to him. But Sherlock couldn't understand or make out a single thing he said. 'What? What, Mycroft?' Sherlock asked again and again, to no avail. Sherlock noticed that his own voice and clothes in the dream were those of his much younger self, a boy. Mycroft kept talking, now much more animatedly, with large dream-hands gesturing. Mummy was there, partially obscured and standing behind Mycroft, silent, distant, out of reach as ever. Mycroft was too big to get around, too loud to shut out, even if he couldn't hear a thing he said. Sherlock laughed at dream-Mycroft and dream-Mycroft was infuriated, shouting and screaming, but seemingly making no noise at all.

Finally, mercifully, the dream shifted to another place completely separate from the first bit. Sherlock found that he was an adult now, and adult Molly and adult John were building something on the floor. Molly had moved off and John was entreating him to help him with blocks that seemed to contain letters and numbers, some kind of code. Now, Molly was returning with a new arm load of blocks, though she was smiling, as ever, through her labor. Neither one of them spoke, only smiled, and without words, Sherlock seemed to understand everything that was expected of him. Then Molly was suddenly in his arms, naked, kissing him, and John was close by smiling, and Sherlock felt safe. Quickly the dream shifted again and Sherlock found himself sort of flying or, really it was more of a floating, drifting lower and lower over some trees, until he fairly crashed into a leafy canopy, descending into the branches of a tree. He was able to grab a limb, and there were Molly and John, already in the trees, waiting for him, smiling.

Sherlock woke, smiling, refreshed, the excitement of the morning's news from John absorbed, though still wonderful, amazing. But the day was to be faced. It was a whole day. Six and a half hours of day time until -. Something must be accomplished. Ah, the chemists, and also –Hmmm. There's time to sort it out, he thought. Sherlock rose from bed, smiling and relaxed and feeling better than he had in weeks, and shuffled to the bathroom. I know, thought Sherlock with a naughty smirk, I'll pay Molly a little visit. She might have some – toys I could use . . . Yes, naughty Molly will have whatever is needed, I've no doubt. He smiled to himself and licked his lips.

There you go.

I was going to do another scene, the scene you really want, But the chapter got too long!

SOON! I PROMISE. Ahaha.

(next chapter for sure, and it won't be long to wait,

'cuz it's almost all written and just needs editing)

Overwhelmed by your responses to the last chapter, thanks so much to many of you who are following this story!

I know Jollock is a narrow ship, so if you fall off, I'm really sorry!

But if you liked even a little bit, I would love to hear it!

For you Sherlolly-ers:

HUGE naughty Sherlolly scene in next installment! She's so much fun!