Gotta have a little follow up to the big scene, n'est pas?

So, it's the same night . . . But I figured I wouldn't title it under 'Thames' anymore.

In which our three conjecture as to whether or not a certain special someone knows about them.

In which John continues to have doubts.

In which John and Sherlock almost have another big fight but make up to Molly's satisfaction.

In which Sherlock finds himself a bit frustrated.

The Wee Hours

"She knows," Sherlock whispered.

"No, she doesn't," John also whispered.

"I think she must, she just must, John." Molly was talking softly but saw no reason to whisper, it seemed silly to her as they had all just been moaning and fairly shouting about a half an hour earlier.

"John, she said that thing a few days ago, don't you remember?" Sherlock said.

"Oh, she just mentioned some late night noise. Might have been anything. Might have been cats or -."

"Oh, John," Sherlock couldn't help laughing quietly, "Hmhmhm, I'm very sorry but you're deluded."

"What?"

"I'm sure she knows, John. She sees that we stay over every single night, well, practically. She's not an idiot."

John was silent. You're still hanging on to an image of yourself that no longer exists, Johnny-boy, you fucking idiot. Molly's right, you're an idiot. Say goodbye to it. Say farewell to 'normal,' say ciao to 'customary' say bonne nuit to 'traditional.' It's over. You're a deviant. A pervert. A fucking head case. Not to mention a proper bummer as of this very evening. Or morning. Or whatever it is.

"No, no. She's not an idiot," John conceded, unable to conceal how Molly's remark had cut him.

"Oh, John, I didn't mean -."

"No, no, you're right, I'm the idiot, I'm the -."

"John," said Sherlock.

"No, no, don't -." John avoided Sherlock's touch, and turned to the dark side of the room, like a Victorian bride. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pursed his lips.

"John, love? Will you, ah, turn back to us, please?" Sherlock didn't touch him, just waited for him and John finally turned in bed back toward Sherlock, who was facing him. "Thank, you," Sherlock must have smiled, John thought, he could hear it in his voice, but couldn't see him, since everything was dark. He accepted Sherlock's light touch, on his arm, and then around his shoulders, pulling him closer to him.

"Sorry. I was being - an idiot, apparently."

"John, I never meant -." Molly was very remorseful. She reached her hand past Sherlock's head, and stroked John's face. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Mrs. Hudson is fine with it John," Sherlock said.

"How do you know that?"

"Well, she mentioned to me just the other day that she thought that Molly was a particularly lucky girl and then she winked very naughtily at me."

"Well," John smiled now, "she is, aren't you, Molly?"

"Ahaha, of course I am." said Molly with a genuine twinkle.

"Yes, of course, John, but she stressed the word particularly in a rather lewd manner and she gave me a dirty wink. Mrs. Hudson doesn't do dirty winks usually. John, love, if you'll let me I'll just tell you, all right? She knows."

John put aside Sherlock's remark and continued to imagine other reasons for Mrs. Hudson's dirty little wink. "Well, she might think that you're having an affair with Molly." John suggested.

"John, you're both here every night, together, in my flat, every night all night, making noise with me, love."

"Still, it doesn't necessarily establish -."

"Oh, John. Really." Sherlock gave up.

"I'll ask her," said Molly.

"Ahaha. Ahahahahaha. What?"

"What? I'll have a word. We'll have girl talk. I'll take her to lunch, or, I know, tea, but a fancy tea somewhere."

John was starting to panic.

"Why – why exactly would you do that?"

"See what she knows. See if there are any problems."

"She's fine with us. Her neighbour has 'married ones,' remember?" Sherlock said and continued. "She loves us, John. But she doesn't know Molly as well. I think it's a splendid idea, Molly, dear, she will fall in love with you, too, if she hasn't already by association."

John was quiet again. See, see what happens? The world begins to know. You can't keep this kind of deviant freak behavior a secret. Not with meddling busy bodies like Mrs. Hudson in the picture, and further more -."

"Mrs. Hudson isn't nosy, John. It's her building, she wants to know who's going in and out, and what's going on. I'm sure she'd keep it to herself. She certainly would if I asked her to. Would you like that, John? Shall I ask her to keep it a secret?"

"Oh, god." The very notion of Sherlock descending to Mrs. Hudson's flat, knocking on her door, having tea and biscuits with her, and requesting that she keep the little item about how he and John and Molly were all screwing every night together made John's head spin. It was too much, just too much to admit to Mrs. Hudson. He'd rather keep it a secret. He'd rather pretend it wasn't true.

Sherlock saw that John was struggling again. He knew it was uncomfortable for John, but that it was only John who could deliver himself from this sort of torture. He felt helpless and tried to think of some way he could help his friend.

"I wish – I wish – I could -." Sherlock couldn't finish.

"What? You wish something, Sherlock?"

"I wish I could help you, John. More than to just say not to worry, or that it's ok. How – how can I help you?"

"You're right, of course. You can't."

John crossed his arms, his shoulders strained, building tension there and in his neck, as well. At times like this he really wanted to hold Molly, pretend his normal life still existed, even if he wouldn't return to it if he had a choice. Sherlock knew John needed Molly at these moments, and he took his cue.

"Oh, I've got to - ." He slipped out of bed, ostensibly to go to the loo, stroking Molly's hair as he went, knowing that she knew what he was up to. Directly he was gone, Molly slid over to John in the bed, and held him.

"You were so lovely with him tonight."

"Oh, love. Shhh."

"What's that? Regret?"

"No, no, not at all. Just. Ah, adjustment."

"Ah, that's a good way to think of it."

"Yes."

The pair were quiet for a time, as Molly held and stroked her husband's hair, kissing his cheek and neck gently. Sherlock had still not come back from the bathroom, and Molly suspected he was staying away a little longer than he really needed to, and was doing it for John's sake. She smiled to herself. She could pay a little attention to John. Make him feel better, assure him. She kissed him and he responded gently, his old self, stalwart, firm but attentive and lovely. She adored him. He stroked her hair. I can't live without him. He drew a knee up between her legs and pushed her back against the mattress, pulling the dressing gown out of his way, but leaving it mostly in place.

"John, sweetheart, oh love, oh, yes, please."

He entered her smoothly and she answered with a satisfied monosyllable, squeezing her muscles around him. However much she appreciated Sherlock's roughness and animal charm in bed, she was equally attached to John's simplicity and tenderness. She loved it when he simply and frankly, laid her on her back, and moved on top of her.

"Missed you," he murmured to her.

"Mmm."

"Miss you whenever I'm not with you. Molly."

"Mmm, John. Love you."

"Love you."

Sherlock entered quietly, but lingered in the door, hesitating.

"Come, Sherlock," John beckoned, and since it was John calling him, he slipped into bed. He slid close enough to touch but tried to find a balance to give them John and Molly their space, too. John, he knew, would have to have more time to adjust to – doing what they'd done tonight, Sherlock thought. Ridiculous to think he'd be over his hesitations so quickly. Even so. They were all together - they were still all right, weren't they?

"Sherlock," John reached a hand to him, smiling. "Come love, come to us."

Sherlock slid closer and miraculously, John leaned to him and gently brushed his lips with his own, then more aggressively, kissing him, his lips wet and hot as he gently moved into Molly, picking up his pace.

"John, ah John," his friend was moved by John's initiation of this contact, of any contact and couldn't help but murmur his thanks whenever he did. And Molly felt the same way. Whenever she saw John reach to kiss Sherlock or take any other initiative action toward their friend, she fairly fainted with pleasure. She was close to a plateau now, which found her cooing and moaning to John, and John answered by putting his hand between their bodies, and placing his thumb in just the right place. The contact made Molly fling her head back and abandon herself to her body's responses, completely releasing, shouting John's name, and then Sherlock's. John quickly began his litany of curses and was finished.

"Ah, lovely, John," Sherlock murmured, kissing John's arm lightly, stroking his hair. Molly lay on her back, smiling and stroking John, holding one of Sherlock's hands in the other while John still nuzzled and kissed her, murmuring to her. Suddenly, Molly felt John freeze in her arms.

"John love?"

"Oh, no."

She realized he saw the marks on her. But how, it's so dark, how could he know? – but he did, she felt it – Well, he is a doctor after all.

"It's nothing, John."

"How – how is it nothing? How can you?"

Molly glanced in Sherlock's direction and saw that he was frozen, attentive. He squeezed Molly's hand he was still holding. Well, this couldn't be helped, Molly thought to herself. How did she think she could keep this from him until her marks healed? It was idiotic. Best to talk it out sooner rather than later, in any case.

"Sherlock, turn on the light," John said tersely.

"John, I think it might be better if - ."

"Sherlock, turn on the fucking light."

Sherlock turned on the light and John gently peeled away Molly's gown from her bitten and bruised body.

"Bloody hell." John drawled out the words as he took in Molly's naked skin, discoloured, and transformed by these marks. Sherlock suspected that anything he said would be upsetting to John at the moment, so he remained quiet.

"This is – this is not how things should be -," John started.

"John, now, John, it's all right."

"No."

Sherlock couldn't stay silent.

"John, I -."

"No! This is – Molly love, I had no idea – no idea – I'm so sorry, it wasn't like this the last time I, we – I would never have – I mean, just now, for gods sake -."

"John, shh, here -." Molly made to put her arms around him, but he held her away from him at an arm's length.

"I don't want to hurt you – oh god. Why did you let me -."

John sat back on his heels in the bed and put his hands to his face to conceal his contorted face as he sobbed for a few moments. Both Sherlock and Molly, and even John knew that his extreme reaction was only partly the shock of the image before him of Molly's discoloured body. At the heart of things were his feelings of confusion about his sexuality, his life.

Molly struggled, but was able to pull her robe up around her again, and tie it securely at her waist. She put her arms around her husband. Sherlock sat close by, but didn't make a move to touch his friend. He exchanged glances with Molly and deferred to her as to how to proceed.

"How could you let me – let me fuck you when you're all -."

"Darling, it doesn't hurt at all, honestly."

"I'm so sorry – Sherlock, did you see this? We - we've been -."

Sherlock remained quiet, not wanting to further upset John by telling him that not only had he seen Molly's body, but he had engaged in some incredible and rather rough sex with her earlier in the day.

"John, please, you have to know the week was about as thrilling for me as I can remember. - ."

"Thrilling? – this is – this is not-."

"Yes, John, and love, it's not going to happen again, right? Everything's back to the way it was, we're all back together -."

"But, Molly – this is -."

Sherlock hung his head, knowing what was coming, knowing but unable to dodge the blow. He merely steeled his body to take what came next.

"It's all right, John," Molly continued. "The marks will go away. Please don't let a few marks get to be so important that -."

"But this is not normal!" John shouted, angry. Then he realized what he'd said.

There was a quite moment.

"No," said Sherlock, "No, it's not," he rose and put on his trousers quickly.

"No, Sherlock, don't, please, please -." Molly whispered.

"It's all right, Molly. John, I'm going to sleep at your's tonight, all right? You two stay here. Take some time. I'm all ready dressed. See? It's fine. I have my phone. You'll call me tomorrow. Yes? Call me tomorrow."

"Sherlock – I didn't mean – I didn't mean -."

"John. John, it's perfectly all right." It's not all right, it's not fine, this is what's been coming all along this is what's been coming, how can I, how can I, how can I live without them? "Molly. Honestly. Perfectly fine. Call me tomorrow. Any time is fine." It isn't fine, it isn't fine, it isn't perfectly fine. Call me back, please call me back, please bring me back.

Sherlock turned to the door.

"Sherlock -."

"It's fine John – just take some time. I know it will be -all right." He left quickly, charging out the door. He needs time he needs some space he needs Molly he doesn't really need me I could disappear and so would his troubles I suppose why do I think I have any kind of investment in this relationship why do I persist in referring to it as a relationship what a fool I am to think this could last how could I think they'd need to keep me with them how can I live without them I won't be able to take another week of this just one night just tonight they'll call tomorrow they will. He thought as he flew down the stairs and into the pre-dawn of London. A thick spring mist full of moisture hit his face, hiding the few quick tears he allowed himself, before he wiped them away, and brought back his barriers, his control.

Molly and John sat quietly for only a moment.

"Please get him back here, John, I can't take another week of the two of you at an impasse – get him back here, do it now." Molly's tone was that of an ultimatum and John couldn't ignore her.

He pulled on his trousers, left the rest, and ran down the stairs into the street. Sherlock was some 50 yards on.

"Hey!" John shouted, "I don't have any shoes!" He walked briskly toward the dark figure in the long coat. It was a chilly damp spring morning, well before dawn's light, with more than just a bit of mist in the air. It was just the slightest drizzle, barely noticeable, but the rain was visible in the street lamps' glow.

Sherlock heard John's call, and froze a moment. He turned and looked at his friend trotting toward him, small, shirtless, barefoot, his arms braced across his bare chest, the rain falling on him. Sherlock strode to him, taking of his coat in a fluid motion, draping it over John's shoulders as they met. John spoke carefully.

"You know I'm still – struggling – you know – you know I wouldn't go back – to the way it was before – I know you know that. You already know all this."

"Yes. But I thought you needed some time – perhaps alone with Molly."

"No. We – I – we both need you – to come back in. Please. Please forgive me?"

"Nothing whatever to forgive, John, don't be absurd. " Sherlock shrugged and smiled, but spoke again. "Are you sure? Wouldn't you like to – take some time alone together? To talk?"

"No. I really don't. Anything I'd want to talk about, I'd want you to be there." John smiled frankly into Sherlock's face, and Sherlock believed him. Strange, he's always so loving, so sincere with me, but inside, with himself he's conflicted. Hmm. What is it that holds him back in his mind, when he's soooo lovely in bed with us? With me? Look what he's done for me, run out half naked to get me back.

"Ok, do I get to call you an idiot for coming out into the street like this? No shirt, no shoes?"

"Oh. Molly gave me an ultimatum."

"Ah. Say no more. 'Though she be but little, she is fierce.' Come, let's get you inside, it's raining harder."

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"Mmm?" Sherlock was walking back to the flat quickly, but didn't want to leave John behind him, either. He was splitting the difference, striding ahead, and looking back over his shoulder to keep tabs on where his friend was and now he was lagging behind, waiting for him to answer his question.

"Was I all right?"

"All right? All right with what?" Sherlock was slightly annoyed as he stopped and turned to his friend. The rain was coming down more regularly, now and Sherlock looked like an irritated house cat caught outside in rough weather. His shirt was darkening with the heavier downpour, his hair getting matted. John saw his irritation and laughed in Sherlock's face.

"That good, hey?" John arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, John, I -." Sherlock stepped into John's space, touching his face with his fingertips. With wonder, as he remembered. John smiled, reaching up, pulling his friend's head to his, slowly kissing him. Sherlock was reserved for only a moment, then fully responded, taking John into his arms. It started to pour, but they didn't break apart for some time.

"Come on, you're shivering for gods sake." Sherlock said at last, gripping John's wrist, pulling him inside.

Molly heard the two men enter the flat, chatting in what seemed to her to be amicable tones. Made it up on the street, she thought. Excellent, that's the way to do it. She heard them hovering about the bathroom, perhaps -? What are they doing, I wonder? Then they slipped quietly into the bedroom, where she was sitting up, waiting for them. She saw how wet they were, each with a towel, wiping themselves down.

"Raining tonight?" She asked, smiling.

"It's pouring, now," said John, sitting in the chair, wiping off his feet. Sherlock got out of his clothes first and was in bed bringing his towel, still drying his hair. When John stood and approached the bed, Sherlock was in the middle already, and he and Molly looked up at the doctor, expectantly.

"Um," John began a little sheepishly. "I would like – I would like to be – in the middle, please."

"Ah. How lovely, John. Please, do." Sherlock budged over to the side, and John crawled in between his wife and – and – lover? His male lover? Oh for fuck's sake.

"John, you're irresistible," said Molly, kissing him, running her hand inside his thigh and palming his cock. On the other side of him, Sherlock was licking what little moisture was left on the skin of his chest. Unable to resist the advances of either of his bed mates? Bond mates? Well WHAT? Oh, fuck, for fuck's sake. John lay on his back, and let his wife pull his legs apart, and take him in her mouth, slowly, deliciously. Let Sherlock tongue and bite his chest, his nipples, stroke his hair. John closed his eyes, and just let it happen.

"It's good to see you like this." Sherlock purred in his ear.

"Hmm?"

"You're smiling. You're enjoying it."

"Very much."

"You're enjoying - me."

"Ahaha. Sherlock, I always enjoy you. Very much, both of you, very much." John continued to lounge flat on his back, taking, taking. He realized he did it quite rarely. If he wasn't giving something in bed, he was on the sidelines a bit, just watching, but he rarely allowed himself to be in the middle, taking from everyone. It was a strange but lovely sensation. Almost too much. Too much pleasure. Like I don't deserve it, or something.

Sherlock pulled John to him with a sudden and forceful, but controlled jerk, John's back now pressing flush to Sherlock's body as both of them lay on their sides. Molly adjusted, and continued to kiss and suck John's length. With a growl, Sherlock thrust his cock against the back of John's leg, high on his leg, and higher and higher. John could feel the tension mounting in his friend and wondered what might happen. What else he might do.

"All right, Sherlock?" John asked, most of his attention on Molly, his hands on her head, his eyes closed. But he couldn't ignore the building strength of Sherlock's hold on his chest and waist.

"Mmm. John." Sherlock's teeth raked across John's shoulders and continued to press hard against his friend, his erection now pulsing between John's legs. Suddenly John felt Sherlock reach away from him, and then felt a hand between his legs, wet and sticky.

"Sherlock. I don't think -."

"No, no, John, between, not inside, all right?" Sherlock put his hand between the cheeks of John's backside, spreading the lubricant around, then pressed his cock where his hand had been, holding John hard, rutting hard against him.

"All right?" Sherlock's words were strained.

"I – I wonder if -." John was a little worried, he hadn't seen Sherlock so close to losing control before. Then he felt his friend roll away from him, and slip out of bed, standing, then walking out of the room.

"Sherlock?" Molly looked up.

"I don't know," John said, "He was, well, he was getting close, and he was between my – my -."

"Yes, I know – what happened?"

"I don't know -. I thought he might be – ah – getting a little close to - ."

"Yes, to losing control." Sherlock was back in the room. He slipped in behind John, again, taking him in his arms the same way he had had him before, but more gently, now.

"What happened to you?" Molly asked.

"I didn't want to do anything - untoward. I was out of my mind, I went to the loo. I – I took care of it."

"What? In the bathroom?"

"Well, yes."

"That's a first for us?"

"I'd say so."

"Yes, it's a little strange, but as I say, I was out of my mind and all I could think of was this."

With a smooth movement, Sherlock gripped John around the shoulder and across the chest, and with his other hand, thrust a single finger deep inside him, immediately locating the prostate, brushing across it.

"Ah, god, Sherlock. Sherlock." John could barely speak. The burn coursed through his body, his brain all but stopped functioning. He quaked, trembling against his friend.

"But you like, it John. Please let me know that, please tell me you do."

"Yes, ah, I do – I – oh god." John arched his back as Sherlock added another finger and started to thrust into John. Molly looked carefully at Sherlock. What's gotten into him? Probably just as he says, he's losing his mind a little. Getting a little impatient. Who could blame him? But he's all right now, she thought, perhaps it's time to up the stakes tonight. John's a big boy. She smiled at Sherlock and lowered her mouth to John's cock again.

"Tell me you like how I hold you hard against me, tell me you think of me, think of me inside you, pushing into you." Sherlock growled in his friend's ear.

"Yes, I do – I do."

"Tell me, please, remind me that you can't wait 'til you're ready for me to fuck you properly, that you think of it, that you dream of it -."

"I do, love, just not yet, please, I don't -."

"Shh, that's all right, just tell me you - just tell me - you want me to hold you - and to – to – oh, god, John, I'm sorry, I'm -." Sherlock started to loosen his grip on John, but John finally saw what he wanted, he reached around and whispered urgently in his friend's ear.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, I want you to fuck me with your fingers hard, do it now and hold me hard against you, yes, like that, oh, god, Jesus."

Sherlock gripped John hard across the chest again, thrusting three fingers into him, fast and hard and deep. He expertly brushed John's prostate at every thrust, pushing the doctor closer to the edge with every movement. John kept talking to Sherlock even as his world began to dissolve and his body seemed to start to float away from him and the heat in his neck and face and body were burning him and burning him.

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me with your fingers, Sherlock, Sherlock, do it like that – yes fuck me hard – you're brilliant with your fingers oh, fuck, oh god, Molly, shit -." John didn't get a chance to speak out his usual orgasm-approaching litany, and came in Molly's mouth faster and harder than he had done in a while, then he collapsed back against Sherlock, who continued to hold him, now stroking his hair, kissing his neck, rubbing his face against him. He's so lovely so tractable and open with me I can't resist him another day I will lose my mind but I will wait I will hang on there is much to explore now, much to anticipate so much to think about if I don't lose my mind obsessing over it all.

Molly slowly released John from her mouth, delighting in the little popping sound she managed to make and looked up at Sherlock. She thought he looked a little bewildered, as though he didn't know what he'd done, but she caught his eye and he nodded to indicate that he was ok.

"John, love? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rough." Sherlock was brushing John's neck with his lips, trailing little kisses as he teased a nipple with his fingers, still crushing John against him with one arm.

John turned fully to Sherlock, pressing his face into his friend's neck, licking and biting him, kissing him. Molly smiled, relieved that the earlier difficulties of the evening were past them now. She cuddled up to John's back, kneading his backside, stroking it. She felt John reach around to stroke her hair.

"John, all right?" Sherlock whispered.

"You are – you are, you know." John's voice was a hoarse whisper, a benediction.

"What, John?"

"Brilliant with your fingers."

Hope you liked the crazy-romantic kissing in the rain scene!

With Mrs. Hudson NO DOUBT Spying on them through her parlour window, no?

I know it's not everyone's ship – Jollock is a crazy wild ride, tho', ain't it?

So, if it's not for you, I'm sorry if I offend.

But if you did like it – even a little: I'd be eternally grateful if you'd let me know!

There just aren't that many Jollock-er's out there! It would be so great to hear from you, if you're one!

Next chapter – I don't know –

We have one more crazy 'first' coming up, don't we? But first, a bit of top-John, no?

Molly will join, and she will enjoy it very much!

Annnnnd, Sherlock must make good on his promise to 'know Molly better.'

I wonder what that will mean? Ahaha.