In which Sherlock and John sit in the chair again

John has a very nice time

Then Molly probably has an even better time

Polyamory, my friends

All Three Twice

John sat in his chair at 221 B, a hand to his brow, decompressing after a hectic morning shift at the clinic. He was remembering, now how he'd slipped out of bed early with Molly while Sherlock slept. He'd felt bad about it, leaving him there, alone.

"Come on, John," Molly had urged him, as he'd hesitated in the doorway. "He'll be fine, sweetheart. We're going to be late. God, you're adorable with him." Molly had to take John's arm and guide him out the door and down to the street.

They'd had breakfast together while Sherlock slept, just toast and tea, but John felt guilty and strained. He wanted to stay with him for some reason. Just keep watch over him.

"Are you going to leave me?" Molly pursed her lips in a tight smile.

"What?"

"You know, pack up Sherlock and leave me alone?"

For answer, John took her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"I don't get it, I don' understand how - why we're – why I -."

"You don't have to, John. You don't have to 'get it,' ok? We're all here and we love each other. It's a tiny bit of what we get to have of heaven before we die. If you think about it, it's not even that much. Is it, after all?"

"I suppose not. But he's – he's so -."

"Yes, compelling."

"Mmm. And you, you are so – so very - " John was rubbing Molly's thigh.

"Hmmhmm. Stop that." Molly swatted him with a tea towel, and got up to put on her coat and collect her bag.

John had to go look in on Sherlock after he'd had his tea, and that's when Molly had to lead him away. John walked her to the tube station and headed to work himself. When he'd had a moment to himself that morning John texted his friend.

Sorry to dash – early shift - c u 2 or 3? – J

Sherlock hadn't responded, but John knew that didn't mean anything. He'd probably be in the door at any moment, now.

Any minute so we can continue our life of deviant buggery – still outlawed in many parts of the world. Oh, god, shut up, can't you shut up? You shut up, you idiot, you're the one engaged in joyful buggery, unrestrained happy buggery. Oh fuck off. John was getting better at telling his inner voice to fuck off, but was having more and more, though shorter and shorter exchanges with it.

"John, love? Inner voice thing?"

Sherlock was in the doorway of the flat, holding some bags.

"Hey. Ahaha. Yeah. S'gone now."

"Good. I got your text. Thanks – that was – I was - ."

"Ok. All right?"

"Mmm. Just – " Sherlock gestured to a couple carrier bags and took himself off to the kitchen. Then shouted.

"Do you want tea, John?"

"Are you making some?"

"Of course. Mug ok?"

"Fine, thanks."

Sherlock reappeared from the kitchen after a few minutes and sat in his chair. The two men smiled shyly at one another. Sitting in their chairs always reminded them of their time living together in these rooms before there was every any – or at least not much of any.

"It was - ." Sherlock started, picking something off his shirt. "This morning –ah, a bit -."

"Oh."

"Yes, um. Surprisingly lonely this morning. For some reason."

"Sorry. I was afraid of that – I was – I felt - ."

"Not at all, not at all." Sherlock waved him off, smiling. "It's lovely to see you now. To know Molly's not far. Very, lovely." Sherlock regarded his friend in his chair, particularly his thighs, which he found more and more attractive, particularly in the pair of jeans that John happened to be wearing at that moment. John noticed his friend looking at him, but could see that he wasn't looking at his face. He bit his lips together to keep from smiling, or indeed laughing out loud, then spoke.

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh," said Sherlock, caught quite by surprise, but was saved suddenly by the familiar click from the kitchen. "Oh, kettle's gone." He popped up and was in the kitchen, but when he came back, placing a mug at John's side on the table, John didn't let the subject slip.

"What were you looking at? Before the kettle went, hmm?"

"Oh, nothing." Sherlock smiled and reddened, standing with his mug of tea.

"I think, I think you were ogling me."

"Hmhmhm." Sherlock laughed quietly to be caught.

"What?" asked John. "What were you ogling?" This was a little outside of John's comfort zone, but he decided to pursue it. It seemed fun, interesting and completely non-invasive. Sherlock paused, but answered.

"Um. Your – aghm, your thighs." Sherlock cleared his throat.

John rubbed an ear with one finger and scratched an eyebrow with his thumbnail. "My thighs?"

"Mmm. In those jeans, actually." Sherlock glanced at John, to indicate the jeans, but quickly looked away again.

John looked at his jeans.

"Really?"

"Mmm. They're – thick, your thighs, aren't they? And, ah, muscular." Sherlock shyly met the doctor's gaze through lowered lashes.

"Ha." John reddened slightly, looking away. Sherlock took the opportunity, with John's diverted attention, to look at his friend's thighs again. Then he spoke.

"What about – you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you – look – at anything?" Sherlock stood before his friend in the chair and looked away from John's direct gaze. He held his cup in his hands before him, but was otherwise quite on display. John knew Sherlock wasn't digging for a compliment, but wanted to know, naturally enough, whether John found him attractive and in what way. Fair enough, thought John. He cleared his throat but only managed a hoarse sort of squeak of a whisper.

"Neck."

"Pardon me?"

"Your neck – is – well, it's ah – quite - ah - sculptural."

"It is?" Sherlock stepped to the mantel and looked in the mirror, turning his head back and forth, looking at his neck carefully from a number of different angles, providing John with quite a show. He unbuttoned a button on his shirt to get a better look.

"Oh, god," John breathed.

"What? Problem?"

"Ahaha. Sherlock."

Sherlock turned his attention back to John in his chair. He noticed that the doctor had uncrossed his legs and put his hands on the arms of his chair, the same stance he'd adopted when he'd first asked Sherlock to sit in his lap, the day before, which Sherlock had quite enjoyed. It had been so soothing, and also quite – what?

"Is that – an invitation?"

"Yes," said John, simply, thrumming the chair arm with his fingers once.

"Mmm," Sherlock smiled, blushing, deeply, slowly approaching the chair, depositing his mug on the side table with John's. Why, I wonder, does this, sitting in his lap, I'm only about to sit in his lap, why on earth does this seem so illicit, as though I'm stealing a secret treat? Why does it feel so impossible that he actually wants me in his lap, wants to hold me and stroke my hair and – oh, no.

Sherlock stopped his approach to John, and John saw a cloud cross Sherlock's face.

"What is it? Something wrong?"

"Nothing – I – I." Sherlock stood just another step and a half away from John, he was looking off, as if into a distance.

"You don't have to, of course."

"Oh," said Sherlock.

"But, I -."

"Yes?"

"Nothing. That is - I – I'd like you to. I liked it – before. I thought that you -"

"Oh. So did I. John."

"Ahaha. Come here, love, what's wrong?"

John watched as Sherlock hung his head and approached him with a mournful expression in his face.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock lowered himself into John's lap, none of the mischievous lover in his face or body, now. Instead he seemed like a small child awaiting a punishment. When Sherlock was fully seated, he lifted his head to John's and the doctor was speechless as Sherlock looked into the doctor's eyes with what seemed to be fear and dread.

"I'm not to heavy, am I?"

"Of course not. Why do you ask that?"

Sherlock pressed his face into John's neck and let John stroke his hair. Then he started to murmur Sherlock's name quietly as he had done before. Barely a whisper, barely consonants at all. Barely a hush and low click. After some delicious moments of this, John heard Sherlock purr. A few seconds, then he stopped, then he did it again. And then stopped. John smiled, holding him. How does this happen, John wondered. When I sit here, and have him join me, we end up cuddling like mother and child. I'm sure it's not me, I'm fairly sure I had rather filthy thoughts about what we'd do when he sat in my lap. Let me see. Yes. Very, filthy bad thoughts. But he's gotten so upset over something. What? Now he just wants to be held, clearly. Like a child. Just like a child.

John continued massaging Sherlock's scalp, pressing his lips to Sherlock's hair, still whispering his name. Then he added 'we' and 'love,' and 'you.' It was like kryptonite. Sherlock seemed to collapse in John's arms, the power and force of his personality seemed to have entirely evaporated and all that was left was this shell, this needy young man in John's lap. John held him as long as he could, murmuring to him quietly for some thirty minutes. At length, part of John's upper arm fell asleep, so he roused his friend.

"Come on, let's, ah - let's go lie down, hmm?"

"Oh, sorry – did I - ."

"No, no, just - my arm fell asleep."

"Sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous."

The two rose from the chair, and Sherlock seemed to be somewhat recovered rather quickly. John paused at the bedroom door.

"Sherlock, did you – did you ever have - an eating disorder?"

Sherlock whirled on John but with a grin.

"Excellent deduction, Doctor. Interesting. But I seem to recall - you promised not to ask - remember?"

"I – oh, sorry – yes, I did – but -."

Sherlock leaned against the doorsill, holding John gently by the waist. He lowered his voice to that irresistible, delicious bedroom tone of his.

"It's all right. Um, when you asked about - my mother – before, I was quite unprepared. Sorry I – I was brusque with you that day. But I did want to tell you - I love that you ask, John. I know it means that you - hmhm – well, thank you. But – ah – I'm still not– you know, not going to talk about it – it all seems quite – ridiculous, now. Like a bad film about – something. Another time?"

"But, when we sit down - there - ."

"Shh. Interesting. I think – I think it has something to do with – hmhm – the chair."

"What? With what?"

"Some other time, I promise, all right? Now, John Watson, will you please get into my bed?"

Sherlock seemed to be quite recovered from his morose spell and was smiling wickedly. He guided John into the room, propelling him toward the bed and they were soon both lying across it, facing one another, stroking one another's faces. If he were to examine the moment too closely, Sherlock thought, he would find it quite nauseating, cloying.

"Strange," said John.

"I'm still in love with Molly, but – this, this is - It feels a little mad."

"Well, thanks."

"That's not what I mean," John knew his friend wouldn't take offense.

"I know, I know. You're still - struggling - playing the name game."

"The name game. Yes, that's really all it is at this point. The implications. I – I'm sorry."

"I wish I could help you, but, you're right, I can't. It's nothing to do with me."

"No, it hasn't," John agreed.

Sherlock leaned up, and pinned John's shoulders to the bed, bending to him more aggressively, kissing him more deeply, with more pressure, more teeth. Sherlock was delighted to weakness to find John responsive, and hungry for his touch. They were unbuttoning one another's shirts, now, and Sherlock managed to dominate in this bit of wrestling, pushing John's t-shirt out of the way, exposing the skin of his chest. He pressed his mouth against this pale flesh, breathing in the scent of John, soap and sweat. Almost involuntarily, Sherlock's hands were undoing John's belt and trousers, and in only a couple of moments John was half naked on the bed, his shirt and t-shirt rucked up under his arms. As Sherlock threw away John's trousers and pants, he smiled at the picture of debauchery his friend made as he lay on the bed, nude from the tits down, reaching for Sherlock. Fully clothed, with only a couple buttons undone, Sherlock smiled and reached for John's bobbing cock, stroking it gently.

"Sherlock, oh, god Sher – mmm."

He spread John's legs apart with his knees, and descended, placing his tongue at the base of John's length, licking up to the tip repeating this several times. Finally he took his tip in his mouth, sucking him, caressing his balls in one hand. He took his time tasting John's head, licking and sucking and John was cooing and begging quite prettily, Sherlock thought, by the time he was ready to move down the doctor's thick shaft.

"Please, please, Sher -."

"Yes, John, yes," Sherlock assured him, smug and smiling, before he took John fully into his mouth to the back of his throat, swallowing against the head.

"Jesus." John arched his back into the pleasure of his friend's velvet tongue and lips.

"Oh, how lovely," said Molly in the doorway. She'd come straight to the bedroom from the door and was shedding her clothing at an alarming rate, some of it falling to the floor, some on the chair, all of it off in record time, thought John. He smiled at his wife, while still leaning into the pleasure Sherlock was giving him with his beautiful mouth. John watched her, now naked, as she reached into Sherlock's closet for her dressing gown. She draped herself in the red silk, still keen to shield John from the marks that were still unhealed on her body. Her eyes focused on John and then she approached the bed. She ruffled Sherlock's hair and placed a kiss in his curls before sliding up to lie next to John, sliding his jumper and shirt up over his head and off, leaving him completely naked.

"Lovely," She said, kissing him.

She loved taking her husband's face in her hands and watching him whenever Sherlock did this for him. She loved to kiss him and murmur to him, while he was getting such lovely special treatment.

"John, my darling sweet love. Have you been good today? Is that why you're getting such a nice treat?"

"Mmm." John couldn't really make words.

"Yes, Sherlock's lovely, isn't he, darling? Marvelous with his tongue, marvelous with his fingers." She kissed him and looked at him carefully. "Is it good, John? Enjoying it, now? No conflicts at the moment?"

"Mmm." John was unable to make any sense of any sounds, Sherlock was driving him so crazy.

"Yes, mmm, lovely." Molly kissed her husband deeply, enjoying his abandon, his delirium, his other-worldliness as Sherlock continued to drive him mad with his tongue. Molly looked down and caught Sherlock's eye. He glinted at her, flashing her a smile in his eyes, and she knew he was beckoning to her to join him. But she watched him for a moment more, enjoying his pleasure in this act. Molly knew he thoroughly enjoyed it for himself, and not just as a way to please John, though that was important to Sherlock as well. She smiled her wanton smile and slid down to join Sherlock between John's legs.

John gasped as he felt Molly's tongue join Sherlock's in licking his cock like ice cream. He opened his eyes, and saw his wife and friend kissing over his length, tonguing him, licking him, then kissing one another again. He rubbed his face with his hands, willing the burn in his skin to abate in temperature, but it didn't and his face and body just became hotter and hotter. Then he saw them look up at him, smiling.

"Hello, John," Sherlock smiled at him. "Turn on your side, love?" Sherlock and Molly gently turned John to the side. Molly continued to kiss and tongue John's cock, while Sherlock was stroking John's backside. John felt his friend knead his muscles deeply, then spread the two halves, exposing his puckered hole and he felt Sherlock lean in, tonguing him there, licking his opening, probing him with his tongue.

"Jesus."

"Tell me, John. Tell me how it feels."

"Ah, ah, it's – it's good, Sherlock, it's – it feels so good." Was that enough, John wondered. Did he need more? John tried a little harder. "It's – you, you make - make me feel so good – Sherlock."

"Hmmhmm. Yes. That's lovely, John." Sherlock laughed and lapped at John's arse a few more moments, then rose from the bed. "Just a moment, Molly," he said, going to the dresser. John watched as Sherlock put some lubricant on his fingers, and then returned to Molly. He ducked his head under John's leg, taking his testicles in his mouth and John arched his back.

"Oh for gods sake," John's mind couldn't focus on anything and he couldn't sort out who's mouth was where as lips and tongues seemed to come from everywhere, and all descend, gently, beautifully between his legs.

"Oh fuck!" John felt a finger enter him, deeply probing, then another. "Sherlock, oh, god, Sherlock," John's protest was mixed. He still couldn't immediately accept the pleasure of Sherlock's fingers and the implication of another man's hands on him still made him hesitate. Sherlock reminded him patiently.

"You like it John, love. Tell me you do, all right? Tell me? If you'd rather, I'll stop, of course, but you must tell me, all right?."

"No, no, don't stop – It's, oh, god, it's lovely, yes, please, fuck me with your fingers, give me three, now, please, please– ah!"

Sherlock used three fingers without hesitation, and he made smiling but silent eye contact with Molly as John started bucking more and more forcefully into her mouth.

"Molly, love, all right?" asked John, feeling the sweet waves of a lovely burning spread through his whole body.

Molly smiled to herself, as her mouth was quite full, and picked up her speed. She knew John's question to be one from their first few months of sleeping together when he would check with her whether it was all right for him to come soon as she sucked him. It had always been a somewhat rhetorical question and she didn't answer him. She picked up her pace up and down John's shaft, and nodded to Sherlock who started to carefully brush at John's prostate every once in a while as he stroked him faster and faster. He dipped his head between John's legs again, kissing and tonguing his balls again, gently sucking one into his mouth, and then the other.

John felt his head start to jerk up and down at the neck, involuntarily as his head and neck and body burned and threatened to burst into flame. The jerking took over his spine, and then his hips and soon his world dissolved and all he knew was this jerking of his whole body and an erasure of all words and understanding.

John's litany of swear words and Molly's and Sherlock's names was particularly colourful this go, but it was fairly short-lived. He came in Molly's mouth quite forcefully, arching his back and repeating one or two of his most common curses. What was astounding was the bouncing up and down on the bed he managed to do as he bucked and jerked in the throes of his orgasm, flinging both Sherlock and Molly away from him. They had to duck out of his way to avoid getting an elbow or a foot in the face. He finally collapsed on his back in the bed, and Sherlock and Molly slid up on each side of him, kissing him and holding him.

"John, love, was it nice?" Molly smiled, kissing him, not expecting an answer.

"Lovely, John," said Sherlock, nuzzling him, then he rose from the bed.

John had his arms around Molly, but reached out as he felt Sherlock's weight lift away from him.

"Wait. Um – where are you going?"

"Oh, John - irresistible," Molly licked his ear.

Sherlock looked down at his friend and was deeply moved. John had his arm out, frankly reaching for Sherlock, while his other arm was firmly planted around Molly's waist, his face all concern and question. Enough to banish any doubt, Sherlock thought. He took his friend's hand and squeezed it, lovingly.

"John, love - Just going to wash my hands, all right, hmm?" Sherlock stood at the edge of the bed, fully clothed.

"Ok, ahaha." John realized how childish he must have just appeared, reaching out for Sherlock as he had, but he was unembarrassed before his wife and friend. He looked at Sherlock, holding his hand now, and he barely looked real to John. It couldn't be possible that this posh immaculate figure had just helped to bring John to one of the most incredible orgasms he could remember having. He watched as Sherlock smiled at him, squeezing and dropping John's hand gently. He stripped off his jacket, dipping into the closet for a hanger, then he turned to the bed again.

"Right back," Sherlock twinkled a smile at each of them, and stepped out of the room.

John closed his eyes, and let Molly stroke him. He pressed his face into the silk of her gown, then worked a hand into its folds, finding her skin, and stroking her in return.

"What can we do for you, love? You've been neglected some more, haven't you?"

"I don't feel neglected. And you two are getting to know one another, and I love it. I love it. And I feel – I feel so safe, John, honestly."

"Tell me what you want, Molly, all right? Do you want anything special, anything particular? Tell me, hmm?"

"Mmm, it's all right, things will just happen, I think, don't you?. We'll wait for him, yes?"

"Of course – we'll wait for him. We love him." John rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to judge yourself about it."

"You're right, I mustn't. It's - it's – just good."

"That's right."

Sherlock was in the room, now stripped to the waist. He slid into bed behind Molly.

"Whispering?" He knew his lovely people weren't whispering secretively, it was just his way of breaking into the conversation. My lovely people. This was Sherlock's new phrase for John and Molly, since John had involuntarily choked with laughter when Sherlock said 'lovely pair' aloud one time. John had had to explain to his friend that it sounded as though he were referring to his own testicles. They'd had a laugh over it and Sherlock was only minimally hurt. But he'd wanted some way of referring to John and Molly in his own mind – he'd never meant to say or use the phrase aloud.

"No, no whispering," said Molly, "we were just saying that John didn't have to judge himself for being in love with you."

Sherlock put his hands around Molly's waist, smiling at John over her shoulder, kissing her ear and neck.

"Mmm, is John in love with me?"

John reddened and glanced away, but answered.

"Yes. I mean – Sherlock -."

"Shh, John, love – no need to pronounce it on cue, hmm? You've told me. I love you, too."

"What about me? Does anyone still love me?" Molly laughed a little hysterically and the two men fairly devoured her, raining kisses and caresses upon her in the heaps of gentle attention she'd been wishing for. All I have to do is ask, she thought. John undid her dressing gown to her waist, and was kissing her breasts, while Sherlock hitched the hem of the gown up around her waist as he kneaded her backside with his hands, reaching between her legs, just lightly touching her there. She lay on her side, closed her eyes and just allowed the sensations to wash over her, lifting a hand to the face of each of them, stroking their cheeks, their hair, their throats. She felt Sherlock lift away from her back, and come back, placing his hand between the cheeks of her backside.

"May I?" he asked, his chocolate and velvet voice in her ear. His fingers were covered in lubricant.

"Yes, yes," she answered in the same hushed whisper he'd adopted.

Sherlock slowly gently probed her tighter hole with a single finger, sinking slowly into her, he added a second finger. She arched into it as John slid a single finger between her lips and deep inside her, then added another, pulsing, gently thrusting into her.

"Mmm," she said, "both."

"Yes, both, love," Sherlock nipped gently at her neck.

"Yes, Molly, both." John kissed the spot Sherlock had bitten, and Sherlock quietly stole a kiss from John.

"Mmm, love you."

"Love you, Molly." John whispered in her ear, pulling her hair a little, then reaching to Sherlock's shoulder and neck, stroking him.

"Love you, Molly," Sherlock gripped Molly's waist and pulled her against him, pressing his erection into her upper thigh, pressing harder and higher and higher.

"Yes," she said, "take me there, yes, please."

Sherlock reached for a condom he'd already located and put it on quickly, then he entered her with two fingers, gently widening her.

"No, no, go ahead, just go slowly -."

"Molly, if I just -."

"Please, please -." Molly begged, so Sherlock obliged her. He gave a quick glance to John, a vestigial request for consent before positioning himself at her opening then slowly entering her. He stopped when he felt her tight ring of muscle constrict around him, not wanting to hurt her.

"Molly?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, lovely, please, please, ah -." The words spilled out of Molly, and Sherlock continued to press into her. John held her hips, still gently tonguing her breasts, and then looked up and watched her face as Sherlock managed to sink slowly into her. He watched as his wife's eyes rolled back in her head, her face contorted somewhat and her lips curled into that wanton smile that sometimes frightened him, but always gratified him. He locked his mouth onto hers, forcing hers open, pressing his tongue into her, rubbing it against hers, dragging his tongue across her teeth, then licking her lips. When he broke away she gasped for air.

"John, love," She arched her back. "your mouth -."

"Mmm? My mouth, love? Oh, yes, of course, ahaha." John slid down to Molly's sex. Though the light was dim, John could clearly see Sherlock's cock gently pulsing in and out of Molly's nether hole. He was just marking time, John thought, waiting for the right moment to up the stakes. John smiled and dipped his head in to kiss and lick Sherlock's testicles.

"Ah, John, hmmhmmhmm, John, oh god -." Sherlock was not at all expecting John's initiation of such an act. He chuckled softly, moved his leg and tilted his hips to give John better access. Always surprising me, how delightful, thought Sherlock, still unused to John's wholehearted involvement in their physical relationship. Especially when he saw the doctor struggle on a daily basis with his not-so-mysterious inner voice. Sherlock felt John's weight move away from him and Molly for a moment, then he returned. What's he done, now? The lubricant, he's – ah!

John probed Sherlock's opening, and quickly thrust in a finger, thrusting rather hard at first and then slowing down. John wanted to surprise his friend a little, let him know he wasn't too much of a retiring wall flower. Then he slowed down, thrusting more gently, in line with Sherlock's thrusts into Molly.

"John?" Molly whimpered.

"I'm here," said John, breathing in Molly's scent before pressing his mouth into her sex.

Molly moaned loudly and long as John and Sherlock pulsed against her, probing into her at a slow and gentle pace. At length, John's tongue picked up speed a bit and Molly quickly responded to him, pulsing her muscles to propel her harder against him and Sherlock had to grip her harder around the waist to keep himself well seated inside her. She loved his hard grip on her, and only felt safer to buck harder against John when she felt Sherlock's hands tighten on her.

Molly quickly reached a plateau and was about to come when she spoke.

"John, I'm close, fuck me when I come, please just quickly take me when I – ah – John -." She was finished, bucking and rocking against Sherlock cock and John's mouth. John slid up in the bed.

"It will be tricky, I'll have to - ."

"Here, John – I'll - ."

Sherlock raised one of Molly's legs, as she lay on her side, and John was able to enter her, reaching to Sherlock holding his arm, and Sherlock did the same, pressing Molly hard between them. Molly was already moaning and moving against them again as she recovered from her first orgasm, but the men pressed harder into her, closer into one another and made it harder and harder for her to move. This made her frantic and her movements took on a desperate quality, her moans became frantic as she tried to maintain her pace and the friction she needed Sherlock found this new turn of events extremely arousing and was getting near the end, his own pace and movements become a bit frantic.

"John, I – close -."

"Yes, – fuck, oh god! Molly, shit!"

When Molly heard John begin his litany of curses and names, she lost her mind and flung herself backward and forward against both of them with all her force, shouting out her release and John followed her quickly afterward. Sherlock took a little longer, but when John slipped away from Molly, lying back in the bed on his back, Sherlock was able to position Molly for a better angle, fucking her into the bed. He was afraid he was smothering her a little as he saw her face press into a pillow and turned her over quickly when he was finished.

"Molly, love, all right? I didn't mean to -." Sherlock didn't need to finish when he saw Molly's obscene smile light up her face. Sherlock smiled back, and leaned in to kiss her.

"John love," Molly reached for John, taking and squeezing his hand as they all lay next to one another still breathing hard, smiling and content.

Ok, that's got to satisfy the most prurient of interests

('Oh little did my mother think

when first she cradled me . . .'

or indeed when she paid my college tuition)

More anon – trying to work some Sherlolly in there

But then John will be jealous. Hmm, jealous John: interesting.

I know this isn't everyone's ship – so I apologize if I offend.

But you know what, there're not that many Jollocker's out there –

So, if you're one of 'em

Please write me if you liked it, 'k?

And tell me where to find more!

More *coming* on Sunday – I'm in the zone.