In which Molly and Sherlock have a very serious chat

In which Sherlock and Mrs. H. have a somewhat less serious but also important chat

In which our three have a brief take-out dinner

In which the sofa features importantly

A Big Day for Sherlock – II-

"St. Bartholomew's Hospital, please," Sherlock said to the cabbie as he pulled the car door to. He had just enough time to meet Molly at the appointed place if the London traffic would cooperate. He'd allowed ten extra minutes above the amount of time the trip should take, and once the cab was underway and the traffic seemed reasonable, Sherlock was able to relax, and review the events of the morning.

He and John had shared coffee and toast before they'd dressed for the day. He thought that he and John had made a bit of progress if only to have been together that morning and to agree to go slowly, now, to enjoy the progress of days in one another's company, all three of them. They agreed to bring Molly up to date on what they'd talked about, as well. In terms of John and his issues concerning his sexual life, the doctor had thrown up his hands at not being able to explain to Sherlock, nor indeed to understand for himself why he continued to struggle internally while he was able to enjoy his wife and friend together in bed.

"I suppose it's all the societal taboos that have been put in place, willy nilly." John had shrugged and said 'I'm sorry,' for the umpteenth time.

John was ready to leave for the clinic about an hour before Sherlock was to leave to meet Molly. He was gathering up his lap top and his keys, and turned to his friend before he'd left. Sherlock saw him turn, and stepped over to him, his head tilted in question, but smiling.

"What is it John?"

"Nothing – just - I think it'll pass, yeah? It's a phase. Some adjustments to be made."

"Perhaps. Have I – ? I hope I haven't been - been too – in bed, that is -."

"No, no. It's not in bed. It's never been in bed, has it? It's here." John touched his own forehead with a fingertip.

"Ok," Sherlock took another in a series of deep breaths.

"Yes – well I'll – Oh, give my wife my love?" Sherlock had told John that he would be meeting Molly for lunch.

"Of course. See you at 5?" But Sherlock couldn't help refrain from stopping John with his hand on his shoulder, pulling him to him in, hugging him, pressing his cheek to John's hair. John endured it and then responded after a moment, realizing what Sherlock wanted and they held each other for some moments. At length they broke apart and stood awkwardly, shyly before John spoke.

"We're getting a little – a little – ."

"Yes, a little ridiculous. I'm quite certain." Sherlock was smiling, however.

"Well, I'll – ok?"

"Yes, John, go, go, I'm sorry to keep you -."

"I'll see you later."

"Yes, later." John had finally managed to get out the door.

Sherlock broke from his reverie as the cab pulled up to the side of the hospital where Molly would be waiting for him, and there she was, waving with a carrier bag of something. He rolled down the window as the car pulled up.

"What have you got? I thought we were going out."

"I've got some sandwiches, it's a beautiful day, come on. I don't want to sit down in some crowded place."

Sherlock quite agreed, and popped out of the cab, paying the cabbie.

"There's a bit of green space around the corner, ok?"

"That's fine, here, let me." Sherlock took the bag from her and the two walked in silence until they found an unoccupied bench near some trees and bushes. As they sat and Sherlock looked up at Molly.

"Our first date." Sherlock's lips curled on one side of his mouth.

"Date." Molly repeated, furrowing her brow. "Hmm. Yes, I suppose so." She handed out the food, sandwiches and bottled water and briefly reviewed their history to herself. She'd met Sherlock at Bart's, of course, worked with him for a couple of years, then John had come into Sherlock's life, and consequently hers, too. Then suddenly, Sherlock needed her, and she'd helped him. They'd had a brief fling when he'd been hiding out just after his faked jump, and then he was gone for 18 months. Then he'd reappeared, and the three of them had miraculously connected again. Completely incomprehensible. Mad. Lunatic. How did we manage it? How did I? I love it. I love them, she thought.

"Perfect," Sherlock accepted his sandwich, and regarded Molly.

"Molly, lovely Molly. I have - been wondering, if I may?"

Molly nodded her assent to be questioned by him, in a manner, she knew, that was going to be close to the heart of things if not dead on. Sherlock continued.

"Are we – John and I – are we enough for you, Molly?"

"Ah!" Molly laughed over her food. "That's not bad. Not a bad beginning at all. I am – a little – what?"

Sherlock was relieved that his question hadn't been an offense and encouraged by Molly's response he decided to go ahead and push the envelope.

"A little bit of a nymphomaniac?"

"Oh, do you think?" Molly considered carefully without rejecting his assessment out of hand, though it was clear to him she wouldn't have chosen the word herself.

"Well, perhaps that's overstating it." Sherlock conceded.

"I prefer 'sexual adventuress.'"

"Ah, I see. How does a sexual adventuress marry my best friend?"

"Hmmhmmhmm."

"All right. What – ah, kind of history would that - ."

"Hmm. Men and women. And uni was very interesting. Various combinations. Various – ah – subcultures. But, as you can see, I prefer men."

"Yes, I see that you do." The two were quiet for a few moments as they ate before Sherlock spoke again. "So, what I must ask, now, I mean, I think it's time I asked-." Sherlock took Molly's free hand in his.

"Yes, it's fine, go ahead, love."

"Well, Molly, my dear sweet love, why didn't you wait for me?"

"Sherlock." Molly pursed her lips. She knew it would be this kind of question, but didn't know he would ask this particular question. Right to the heart of things, of course. She thought it had been answered a thousand times already, however, both in the past, and in their current relationship.

"You told me not to. You told me you had no idea when or even if you would be back. You told me you would very probably be killed. Oh, love, you told me in no uncertain terms to take care of John and to let him take care of me, and – you knew what that might mean. You remember all that, don't you?"

"Yes, love. You're right, of course." Sherlock pursed his lips and raked his hands through his hair.

"But – I'll tell you another aspect of the – well, the reason I -."

"I must – I must just tell you, before you go on, I should have long before now, if you'll allow me? -." Sherlock squeezed Molly's hand to stop her.

"What, Sherlock?"

"Our - short time together – it was – Molly, love - it was very important to me when I – when I was away – our time together became a larger and larger reality for me – as time wore on. And when it was over, and I was preparing to return to London – I thought – I thought that we -. Well, I suppose by then it had become – rather a large fantasy."

"No, love, not at all." Molly tried to soothe him. Sherlock continued.

"Um. Then I heard from Mycroft that you and John - ."

"Oh, love." Molly put her hand on Sherlock's arm. "Those first few months must have been very hard on you."

"Oh, yes, Molly, yes. I missed you both terribly. Even though John was -. I must tell you, I still remember us and – I wonder what we would have been – together."

"Yes, I thought so. And we've sorted it out, now, haven't we?"

"Yes, yes." Sherlock tried to contain his flood of rising emotion into this one repeated word. He squeezed Molly's hand in his. "How? How on earth did you know – my behavior, my -?"

"Yes, your reserve? Your distance? I don't know. Love. And luck. I think."

"But how did you know I would – accept such a – such a situation?"

"I didn't. But I'm sure John told you. We were desperate. We were desperate for you, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at his hands.

"You married rather – quickly, though?"

"Not at all. I'm 32. My family were delighted."

Molly and Sherlock smiled at each other and Molly's ridiculous ruse.

"All right. It was – faster than – than I would have liked. But I was – oh, love, we were so empty without you. Don't you know that we were?"

Molly's eyes relived for Sherlock the pain that she and John must have shared in their ignorance of his whereabouts – in his absence.

"But, also, Sherlock, I didn't want him to – get away – from us ."

"From me."

"Well, yes, love. Didn't I do right?" Molly looked at Sherlock with grave concern. He seemed to have something very heavy on his conscious and somewhat suddenly. What's happened? she thought. Had there been a row again between the two men? She saw Sherlock close his eyes and drop his head. Molly went on.

"Also, there would have been a scene, wouldn't there, if I were unmarried, sleeping with John, and you suddenly got back? Did you want that kind of a scene with him?"

"I would never have interfered with -."

"No, I know, but it would still have been a scene."

"I suppose." Sherlock smiled somewhat wanly at Molly. "I just don't like the notion of having forced John into something he might not have chosen for himself."

"No one chooses his sexuality, Sherlock. John stayed with us, we never forced him. He'll tell you the same thing."

"Yes, he has done, we talked this morning." Sherlock related the exchange he'd had with John in the morning and assured her that they had parted affectionately.

"And one other thing, Sherlock, concerning John. I love him. I'm in love with him. In case it needed saying."

"Of course you do, I know you do." Sherlock reflected on all they'd been saying to one another and another cloud crossed his mind. "I'm not sure I'll enjoy keeping some of this from John."

"That's why I didn't tell you. But now, you will have to keep it from him, I'm afraid. Some of it may hurt him. Perhaps later, when some time has gone by?"

"Of course, of course. It's just that – he's having such an awful time of it, and I can't help but feel rather responsible."

"Yes, I can imagine. But he has to get through it on his own."

Molly and Sherlock finished their food, and sat on the bench quietly for some moments. Sherlock sensed that Molly had more to say and waited for her.

"I also wanted to say," Molly began, "I'm – I'm very sorry that you're the one left out of things, out of the – conventional marriage." she began. "I know – I mean, I can only imagine how you feel sometimes. And I know that – it makes you sad sometimes. I'm so sorry. But – and I'm sorry about this, too – I'm fairly certain you are able to take it better than he might have. Forgive me. You'll have to forgive me. But haven't we managed to pull it all together, though? And make a – a life together for ourselves? So far?"

"You certainly have," Sherlock smiled at her. "I'm very grateful to you. Dear." Sherlock held Molly's hand, the one with the rings, squeezing her fingers, running his thumb over the shiny rock and the gold.

"Oh, love." Molly hung her head.

"It's all right. I'm all right. You're – you're quite right. John is – the normal one – the -."

"That's not at all what I meant -."

"No, no, you're right, I'm sure – in the long run – I –I -." Sherlock stood for lack of anything else to do with the urge to bolt that he suddenly had. He recalled the last weeks of his mission alone, the excitement mounting in him at the thought of returning to London, his jubilation at having accomplished his herculean task, his thrill at the notion of returning to John and the Work, of returning to Molly and having something like a normal life. Normal. Normal. All ether. Amaranthine.

"Don't go like this, please don't do that to us. Not now." Molly's voice was commanding but she couldn't hide the fear underlying her command – Sherlock could hear it, anyway.

"I won't. I won't. I promise. I just - ." He stood for a moment longer fighting his emotions, and then sat back down next to Molly and collected himself before he spoke again.

"I'm genuinely grateful, Molly, for what you've done. I'm very – I'm – I've never been so -."

"The word is 'happy.'" Molly said.

"Yes, I suppose it is." He took and squeezed her hand again, and he kissed the fingers. Then he brushed his thumb over the rings again, looking at them and kissed the rings as he looked into her eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed, a hand in his hair, knowing that she had been forgiven. They held still, wrapped in one another's presence, Molly's hand in his hair, Sherlock holding her hand to his lips for another few moments. Then they resumed their seats on the bench as if they were just another pair of friends sharing lunch.

"We must talk together much, much more than this, love. How have we put it off?"

"These things take time, Sherlock. It took as long as it took. Let's not judge it too much, hmm?. We'll talk more, I promise. But I must run, now, I'll just make it back in time." She gathered up the papers and bottles, and led the way out of the tiny park, back toward the hospital.

"I'll catch a cab from here. Will you walk the rest of the way? Or shall I drop you?"

"No, no, I'll walk. I'll see you tonight? Usual time?" Molly was smiling, touching his chest.

"Yes, love." Sherlock leaned down and kissed her lips, whispering to her. "When I found out that you and John had married all I could think was 'but she's mine, she's always been mine.'" Sherlock touched her cheek with his finger tips and moved a stray strand of hair from her face as the wind whipped them both.

"And I always will be." Molly was looking into Sherlock's eyes with the gravitas of the ages.

"Promise me?" he said, smiling.

"I promise. You and John. Always."

"Yes, yes. Always. You and John."

Sherlock gave an address to the cab driver, and settled in for the ride. How had he neglected Molly so badly, he thought? How has this talk taken all this time? What? Six months? But she was rather magnanimous about it, never complained about her neglect. Never begged for attention. But she asks for what she needs when she needs it, Sherlock thought, and in the end this talk was all about me, wasn't it? Me and my needs, my pathetic – no, no, it was old business that had to be dealt with. She knows it too, now it's out in the open between us, as it should be. We can deal with it together and move on. Sherlock heaved a sign of relief and some contentment. She's so easy and reasonable. He thought. John, on the other hand. How can I help him? How can I ease his struggle? Can I at all?

The cab slowed and stopped, Sherlock paid and got out, popping quickly into the food specialties shop. He located jars of lemon curd and a lingonberry jam, paid for them, and caught another cab to the flat. When he entered the building, he knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door and she answered in only a few moments.

"Oh, Sherlock, dear, how are you, love – Everything all right?" Sherlock pursed his lips, knowing that his landlady would be surprised by a social call from him.

"Fine, just fine, Mrs. Hudson. May I - come in?" Sherlock was aware of the time, and didn't want to be caught in the hall if John were to come home early.

"Oh, of course, of course, would you like a cup of tea? I've just put the kettle on, oh, you'll have cup with me, won't you?"

"I'd be delighted, thanks so much," Sherlock let her conduct him through a narrow hallway to a parlour and then he was standing in the kitchen doorway, as she prepared a tea tray, chatting all the while about little things, her hands dancing in the air for emphasis. When she paused, he took the opportunity to place his package of jars on the kitchen counter.

"I've brought you some jam, Mrs. Hudson, if I may presume."

Mrs. Hudson looked up from her work with an astonished face, taking Sherlock's package in her hands.

"What? Oh, how lovely! What have we here? Lemon curd and lingonberry jam. Oh, this brand is hard to find, I only know one little shop that carries it, and it's the best, oh my goodness! Oh, this is special." She stopped nattering and a look of seriousness came across her face.

"Is everything all right, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, don't worry. I just need to have a little chat. If it's all right?"

The older woman smiled half a smile and her gossiping-elder-lady mien seemed to fall away from her.

"Hmmhmm. I see," she said with good humoured seriousness. All right, then, love, we'll do just that." She hoisted the tray and the two made their way to the parlour.

"I'll be mother, shall I? I might as well." said Mrs. Hudson, as she poured the tea from her spot on the sofa, the tea tray before her. Sherlock smiled as she poured I do believe she is the closest thing I have to – to – oh. Oh, well. Sherlock focused his attention on the matter at hand as he accepted the proffered cup and saucer from Mrs. Hudson's hand. She already knows, he thought, what am I doing here? Ah, yes. The human touch. The empathy, the sympathy, the courtesy, really. And no one deserves these things more, no one, no one. I'll let her start. She's so damned smart, she'll get right to it. Sherlock watched his landlady prepare her own cup of tea, silent now, with a tight smile on her face, and finally she faced him.

"So, dear? What is it you wanted to chat about? It's not girl trouble, is it?"

Sherlock smiled Yes, yes, my own dear Mrs. Hudson, right to the heart of the matter.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, not girl trouble. No girl trouble at all at the moment, since you ask." He smiled at her, and lifted his eyebrows encouraging her to keep guessing.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded, then sipped her tea.

"Hmmhmm. Well then, it must be boy trouble."

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock regarded his host with great affection and smiled at her. He continued in a tone of some self mockery. "How on earth would you know it's 'boy trouble,' as you call it?"

"Well, I was treated to a lovely scene of quite tender kissing and holding in the pouring rain just last night, wasn't I? See? Right out this window. Looked like there might have been some trouble, but it seemed that everything was set straight in the end? Hmmhmm. That is, in a manner of speaking."

Mrs. Hudson had indicated her parlour window and Sherlock stood up and noticed that her curtains would have perfectly framed him and John this morning when they'd stood in the rain holding one another as they kissed at some length. He smiled, but inwardly cringed a little at the thought of John's knowing about it. Mrs. Hudson stood up from her chair, as well, moving to Sherlock's side. She felt him heave a deep sigh and put his arm around her. His tone was kindly and intimate.

"Shame on you, Mrs. Hudson, spying on people in the middle of the night."

"Ha! It's not spying if it goes on in the street and I happen to be looking out my window, is it?"

"No, of course not. I'm sorry if we – ah - disturbed you."

"Not at all. A woman of my years likes to be reminded a little of love's young dream. I hope everything's all right now?"

"I think so," Sherlock said, and turned back to his chair, as Mrs. Hudson returned to the sofa. Sherlock paused before continuing.

"I did want to – ah – discuss the whole picture with you, Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled and shrugged.

"And you don't mind my – interrogating you a little?"

"Certainly not, what do you want to ask me?"

"Well, just – what do you – perceive?" Sherlock looked carefully at his landlady as she smiled and poured herself another cup of tea.

"Hmmhmm," she laughed to herself, "It's – well, it's all of you, isn't it? All three? Yes, I'm quite sure. John and Molly and you. Together." She looked at him frankly, without embarrassment or scandal.

John and Molly and me. Together. Every night. All night. How delightful. Sherlock was only a little surprised by Mrs. Hudson's immediate acceptance of the situation. The next bit of the conversation would only be formality, he knew.

"Well, you're right, Mrs. Hudson. That's exactly what it is. All three of us." Sherlock checked her expression before going on.

"Not so hard to know."

"No, I don't suppose so. Mrs. Hudson – is it – is it quite all right – with you?"

"Well, I think it's delightful. Perhaps a little mad, but perfectly delightful, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson flashed a smile at Sherlock that made her look 20 years younger. "But first and foremost, Sherlock, and you already know this, there are two things about your private life: It's yours. And it's private. Or as private as you care to make it."

Sherlock dipped his head in embarrassment as he remembered the pictures of Molly, and as he thought of John's chagrin when he would find out that Mrs. Hudson had seen them together on the street.

"But, a bored lonely woman can't help but notice things, you know. I hope you'll forgive an old busybody for looking out her window in the middle of the night when she hears noises."

"Of course, of course, Mrs. Hudson, it's I who should be apologizing for disturbing you."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"The thing is – ."

"Ah. Yes, what else is there, Sherlock? How can I help?"

"John is a little - well, he's still new to all this -."

"There you go again, Sherlock Holmes, turning another one."

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Soon there won't be any properly straight men left in London for nice young ladies."

Sherlock pursed his lips into a tight smile, though he was delighted with Mrs. Hudson's playfulness even on this tender matter. He lowered his tone, as if they had been at a crowded café.

"The last one was a one-off, Mrs. Hudson, and I never turned anyone, either. And for goodness sake, it was five years ago, before I even moved in here."

"Well, he was married."

"Operative word: was. And that doesn't mean anything, anyway."

"Apparently not."

The pair laughed together.

"How can I help, love?"

"Yes, well, if you wouldn't mind keeping it to yourself?"

"Of course, Sherlock. To the grave."

"And if Mycroft were to appear . . ."

"Say no more. He'll have to torture me. Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson was somewhat alarmed by Sherlock's look of careful consideration when she mentioned torture.

"No, no, I'm confident he wouldn't try it, Mrs. Hudson, though it is an interesting -. No, no, no. Ridiculous. And then, as far as John is concerned, as I say, it's still a little new for him -."

"Discretion shall come to be known as my middle name."

"But nothing extraordinary, either, please. If we could be as normal as possible?"

"Well, what other would I be?"

Sherlock smiled and leaned toward this lovely wise woman and lowered his voice.

"There mustn't be any more naughty little winks, Mrs. Hudson. Not to John anyway. If that's all right?"

"No, of course not, love. That one time was only meant for you, after all."

"All right." Sherlock finished his tea and replaced the cup and saucer on the tray.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm quite taken with you, you know." Sherlock beamed at her.

"Well, naturally. But it's lovely of you to tell me, dear." Mrs. Hudson lowered her voice somewhat. "It's lovely to see you so happy, after all the trouble you've been through. They seem to be taking good care of you, are they?"

"Yes, they are," said Sherlock as he smiled at her, "And so are you. Thank you. And thanks so much for the lovely cup of tea." Sherlock stood.

"My pleasure, I'll come with you to the door, shall I?" And the two made their way. At the door, he took her in his arms, whispering.

"Mrs. Hudson. Lovely Mrs. Hudson."

He kissed her cheek briefly and bounded up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson shut the door, whispering to herself with a smile as she thought of Molly.

"Lucky girl, lucky, lucky, lucky girl."

Sherlock bounced into the flat to find John seated in his usual chair.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Sherlock noticed that John was in Sherlock's dressing gown and his hair was a little wet in spots.

"I took the liberty while you were out – had a quick bath, hope you don't mind?"

"Not in the least." said Sherlock. How delightful, he thought.

"You – ah – talked to Mrs. Hudson?"

"Well, yes, John, she – ah - ."

"That's all right – I – I've had time to absorb it – she knows about us all? – she's known a while – I suppose?"

"I think so. And she let me know – I should tell you – she saw us in the street last night – ah, this morning. Ah - you know – in the rain."

"Jesus."

"She's fine with it, John."

"She is?"

"Perfectly. I promise you."

"I – well - ."

Sherlock said nothing as he stood before John, hoping this humiliation wouldn't be too unbearable for him. He wondered, though, why the revelation to Mycroft had been easier to take? Well, he has to see Mrs. Hudson every day, and she's a mother figure to both of us. Perhaps slightly more embarrassing.

"Ok. Ok. Jesus." John put his hands on his face and Sherlock tried to ignore the scene.

"I, ah – had some tea downstairs already, but if you'd like a cup I can -."

"Over tea? You talked with her over tea, Sherlock? 'Oh, John's a bummer, pass the sugar?' That sort of thing?"

"Shh, John." Sherlock had remained standing and moved around behind the doctor's chair. He didn't ask, but just put his hands on John's shoulders, digging in gently at first, and then deep and deeper.

"Ah. Thanks -." John leaned his head forward. "Sorry, I'm just -."

"I completely understand," Sherlock purred, enjoying his contact with John, though it was fairly one-sided at the moment.

"Ok, um, If I could just - Mrs. Hudson knows, Mycroft knows."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed, kneading John's tight shoulder muscles.

"Is – is that all? Jesus, does Greg know? Do any of the -."

"No, no – no one there. That's good, move your head around."

"Ok. Anyone else? Anyone I should -."

"I don't think so." Sherlock finished his somewhat perfunctory rubdown, squeezing one of John's shoulders briefly before stepping around to face the doctor again.

"Ok." John was still a bundle of nerves, Sherlock saw, completely keyed up.

"Will you – let me, John?" Sherlock blurted it out, not at all thinking first.

"Let you? Let you what?" John looked up, truly bewildered. Sherlock looked away, suddenly inexplicably bashful.

"Oh, never mind."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. I'm not, ah. Not right now, I hope you don't think – I'm just not -."

"It's fine, John. I thought I could – it's fine."

Sherlock dropped into his own chair, and the men passed several long moments in a an embarrassed and idiotic silence. The door downstairs slammed, and Sherlock could tell it was Molly. He leapt up.

"Molly's brought Chinese food. I'll help her." And he was down the stairs like a shot, leaving John in his chair. Molly was alarmed at the speed with which he approached her.

"Molly! Did you remember the lo mein?"

But in her ear he quickly whispered,

"He needs you, let me take these. Answer me about the lo mein, now."

"Yes! Lo mein and the prawn toast!"

Sherlock winced. Too loud she's a liability he'll know immediately he's getting too canny for his own good well he's learning my methods he'll forgive me even so he knows I know he needs her where's the harm?

Sherlock and Molly entered the flat. John was standing at the desk, looking at them with a knowing smile on his face.

"Sherlock," John said, "I didn't mean -."

"It's fine, let me do the food. Bowls all right?" The detective dipped into the kitchen with the bags of take away. Molly stowed her bag, and John helped her with her coat. He put his arms around her, and she dug her arms into his robe, putting her hands on his skin, nuzzling him.

"How does he know?" John asked.

"That you like to be with me when you're – feeling out of sorts? You have fairly well established patterns you keep to."

"I suppose that's the nice way of saying I'm predictable."

"Well. How did you do today?"

"Fairly normal at the clinic. And the stupid voice thing? That was very minimal, really. It usually is after – after we – ah -."

"Ah," said Molly, delighted. "You and he – this morning?"

"Well, just – yes – if you must know."

"I must," Molly smiled and kissed him. Ooo, wish I had been with them for that – wonder what they did –

"Just a little friendly frottage, Molly, nothing you haven't seen before." Sherlock brought two bowls toward them. "Oh, do you want food? Or – aghm - one another?" he asked.

"No, no, dinner first, hmm? Thanks, love."

"Ta. Sherlock." John waited for Sherlock to turn back to him. He felt rather ashamed of himself for putting his friend off just before Molly's arrival, but he had felt rather unwell. He made a mental note to make it up to him, somehow, in some way. Later.

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you."

Sherlock smiled at John and dipped his head away, on his way back to the kitchen.

"Be right back - red wine ok?"

"Fine."

Sherlock headed back to the kitchen to retrieve his own bowl and wine and glasses. He was relieved to see John was already much more relaxed and enjoying himself again in Molly's company. Thank god for Molly what would I do where would I be without her she's the saving grace my saving grace I'd be alone without her but why can't I help him the way she does? Why can't I calm him, soothe him that way? He says it's a phase wait it out wait it out wait out the phase.

The three made short work of their meals and the wine. John and Molly were seated on the sofa and Sherlock perched on the coffee table, facing them. Molly and John chatted about various topics concerning either the clinic or the hospital, there was always something or other that they found to chat about. Sherlock simply listened with one ear and ate a small amount of food, and monitored the wine, refilling the glasses as needed. It's all right, he thought. We're all right, we're going to be all right. She'll help me with John. Molly knows, she knows so well what he needs. Look, he's completely relaxed in her company In general, Sherlock was greatly relieved that the exchange he'd had with John that morning was becoming more and more a thing of the past.

At length, John looked up at Sherlock during a lull in the conversation he and Molly were having about some hospital policy. He smiled, and patted the spot next to his, beckoning Sherlock to sit on the sofa with them. Sherlock complied, and sank into the sofa, breathing another deep breath of relief to be in the presence of his lovely people. John gripped his wrist a moment, squeezing it, before returning his attention to Molly and their discussion. Sherlock sat on the sidelines content to have their voices wash over him. He even closed his eyes, letting their presence, their voices bathe him and envelope him. He knew Molly would be able to see his look of pleasure. He snapped his eyes open just to see, and sure enough, Molly was smiling at him, recognizing his contentment, and he watched as John took in Molly's gaze, and turn his head to him.

"See how happy he is, love? Just to be with us?" Molly said to John, her gaze still steadily trained on Sherlock.

"Yes. It's lovely."

"Yes, it is. He is."

"We're not boring you, mate?"

"Not at all." Sherlock breathed very quietly, smiling. John and Molly returned to their conversation but they were soon engaged in a brief flirtation followed by some involved kissing. Sherlock relieved them of their wine glasses, and drained his own, placing all three on a side table. Sherlock was sorely tempted to touch and kiss them, but held back, wanting to make things as right for John as he could, but John surprised him when he reached out to grip his wrist again, murmuring, as he nuzzled Molly,

"Stay close, Sherlock. Please don't drift away." Sherlock's head swam with pleasure.

Molly soon had John's robe open, and was stroking his chest and abdomen as the couple kissed. John's cock was already standing at attention and Sherlock was getting a little anxious. It would be so easy, Sherlock thought, to just lean over and - but wait, wait for Molly, she'll let me know when and if I should -. Molly stood somewhat abruptly, and slipped her pants off out from under her skirt. She rearranged herself across John's legs, straddling him without actually mounting him and John put both his arms around her, pulling her against him, holding her hard as they continued to taste one another's mouths as well as the skin on their necks and faces.

"Sherlock," said Molly, and Sherlock looked up at her, but she was completely engaged with John, in their kissing. Nonetheless, Sherlock sat closer, sliding his hand over John's abdomen, up his chest, and leaned in to taste the salt on his neck.

"Oh, god, love," John breathed as he felt Sherlock touch him, nibble at him, kiss him. Sherlock smiled to himself to have this affect on his friend when he was already quite involved with his wife. He felt Molly put a hand in his hair and felt her lean away from John a little. Sherlock smiled, looking up at her, and then realized her intent as he looked down at John.

John's cock stood erect and enraged between the couple's bodies, and Sherlock couldn't ignore it: he slowly lowered himself to it and put his mouth on the tip.

"Oh, fuck," John whispered at the contact without breaking eye contact with Molly. Sherlock sucked and kissed the head for a moment, then sank down the length of him, listening to John hiss out his pleasure. Then, with his fingertips, Sherlock traced up Molly's thigh, and though he had an uncomfortable angle, he managed to enter a finger into her, then two, gently probing her. He added another finger, she was so wet and open for him.

"Sherlock," She sang, and she opened her eyes. "He's ours now, John, you see that don't you?"

"Yes, love, yes," John half whispered half hissed back to her. Molly leaned in and kissed him, moaning a little as she felt Sherlock's fingers pulsing into her. Then continued to speak gently to John.

"He wants to be ours. He loves us and he never wants to leave us. He's afraid, you know – he's afraid of us breaking apart, of leaving us."

"I know – I know he is, but we're never -."

"No, never, love. And it's everything we've wanted, isn't it?" Molly assured John, kissing him over Sherlock's head, gently gripping a handful of Sherlock's dark curls between her fingers.

"It's our life, John."

"Yes," John whispered.

"It doesn't matter what other people think, or what they call it."

"No, no, of course not, oh, god -."

"Good, love, that's good." Molly had had enough of this goddamned inner voice issue, and was determined to put a stop to it, though she wasn't sure how she could manage it. It was hurting Sherlock, making him feel responsible for John's pain, and it wasn't helping John in the least. She hoped this moment would have some effect. We'll see, She thought.

"Sherlock, love?" Molly prompted, and Molly lifted her hips up slightly from John's thighs as Sherlock drew his mouth away from John's cock, taking it in his hand, and pressed the tip into Molly's opening as she slowly descended again into John's lap with an abandoned moan.

"Oh, for godssake, oh fuck, Sherlock, Molly." John whispered as he reached and gripped Sherlock's neck, pulling him to him, locking his mouth against his friend's, holding him hard. Sherlock's breath was taken away at this initiative of John's to haul him so forcefully into a kiss. It quite weakened him, but made him feel safe and secure at the same time to have John's commanding grip at the back of his head, holding him, guiding him. They continued their kiss as Molly began to move, leaning in to steal a kiss from someone when she felt she could. She smiled as she ground up and down against John, trying to steal kisses as she went, as though she were on some crazy carnival ride. Soon the three were trading kisses back and forth as they went, a wet sloppy affair that soon had them all giggling like kids.

Sherlock turned his attention to Molly and unbuttoned her blouse slowly as she started to pick up her pace riding John. She watched him as he took his time with her clothes, and it drove her a little wild to watch his meticulously careful fingers work each little button. Finally her blouse was gone and she was reaching a plateau, then John reached behind her and unclasped her bra, and Sherlock soon had it off her shoulders, and thrown away. Then Sherlock quickly unclasped and unzipped her skirt, now, lifting it over her head as she continued to buck and grind against John. She came against John at last, throwing herself against him, setting her teeth in his neck as she rode out the last shudders of her release. John continued to pulse into her as he waited for her, holding her, stroking her cheek and her hair. At length he asked gently.

"Molly love, do you think you can turn around? For Sherlock?"

Molly smiled and rose up off of John, standing. She set her back to him, seeing Sherlock at the other end of the room, shucking off his clothes.

"He's lovely, isn't he, John? And he's ours."

Sherlock looked up as he cast aside his last bit of clothing and approached them, smiling. Molly stepped over to him, and they embraced. John watched them, swooning a little at how lovely they were together. He watched as Sherlock swept Molly up in his arms, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, watched as Sherlock brought her over to where John was seated on the sofa and watched him set her down, landing in front of him as Sherlock smiled down at John, gently delivering his wife to him again.

Molly felt John's hands on her hips, as she stood with her back to him.

"Ready, love?" he asked, as he gently guided her to sit in his lap, gently pressing his cock into her from behind. Then he held her in place, gripping her breasts, and nuzzling her back, nipping her gently. She took a moment to feel securely seated on John's cock before she reached out in front of her, to where Sherlock stood. She wrapped her arms around his waist, taking his cock into her mouth without a moment's pause. Sherlock arched his back as he stood before her and John, giving John a exquisite show of rippling muscles and abandon. John ran his hands up and down Molly's back, now gripping her bottom, now her hips, as he ground into her gently. She maintained an easy pace against him, circling her hips around and around.

Molly loved being between them, being the conduit to bring them together. As the three began to move together, finding a rhythm, she felt their two pairs of hands on her back, John's creeping up from behind, Sherlock's descending her back, and they connected and held one another. She felt it, the connection, gripping one another's hands near the middle of her back and she gripped Sherlock's waist tighter, and ground down against John harder when she felt it. Their pace quickly became a little impossible, and Molly lost contact with Sherlock once or twice as John did with Molly, as the three bucked and pulsed against one another.

Molly felt John getting closer as he broke his connection with Sherlock, and gripped her hips harder, pitching against her faster and pulling her against him with more and more urgency.

"Close," John confessed, and was soon swearing his head off as usual, and emptying himself into Molly, repeating his favored profanity at such moments, 'fuck, fuck, fuck.'

Sherlock never felt very comfortable fucking while standing up, and when he saw that John was done, he lifted Molly to him, and held her for a moment.

"All right?" he asked.

"Mmm? You?"

"Oh, yes - do you mind if we sit?" He guided her to straddle him as he sat down on the sofa. She mounted him easily and rode him gently for a moment.

"You're so lovely together," John said, coming back to himself again. "Why did you marry me, for godssake, Molly? He's so lovely with you, you're so lovely with him, I just don't understand it sometimes - ."

"Shh, love, don't be silly. We're all together, now." She held her tongue at her impulse to say 'marriage is a societal convention I had to succumb to,' or 'if I hadn't married you, how would we all come to be together?' She knew these things would hurt John. She avoided the issue at all costs with him, and instead tried to soothe him, shield him from some of the truths of their union. She justified it all with her love for him. It was true, she loved him and couldn't do without him. The same as Sherlock. What's a nice girl to do?

Sherlock was smiling up at her, and she leaned in to kiss him. When she broke from him, he turned to look at John who was relaxing on the sofa next to them, smiling.

"Stay close, John," Sherlock smiled and said, "Please don't drift away from us?"

John slid in close to Sherlock, nipping his neck, and gripping Molly's bottom.

"What's that, loves?" John asked, "Can't you do without me?" He leaned up to kiss Molly, now.

"No, love," Sherlock replied.

"No, love," Molly said. But then, John backed off a bit, still a hand on Molly's knee, and let the two get closer to their finish together.

"John, close," Sherlock breathed.

John knelt up on the sofa next to the couple and faced Sherlock, nuzzling him and kissing him until he felt Sherlock come to the very limit, his back arching, his neck straining, then John bit him soundly on the neck forcing Sherlock over the edge. It would make a large mark, the doctor thought, but one that he calculated would be hidden by Sherlock's shirt if he buttoned it in the usual way. Sherlock clutched John hard against him as he came into Molly. With his other arm, he gripped Molly against him as well and Molly and John were face to face as Sherlock moaned out his climax and the couple kissed over Sherlock's noises.

When Sherlock opened his eyes after several long moments, Molly was smiling into his face.

"Hi there. I'm not finished yet."

"Hmmhmm. Sorry about that," Sherlock smiled and shrugged, pressing his hands to her face, then stroking her breasts.

"I'll have to wake you early in the morning," Molly said with mischief.

"Wake me any time you like. Wake me in a half hour."

"Ahaha. Down, Molly. Let the poor man be, can't you see we've exhausted him? Come, loves, beddie bye."

"Yes," said Sherlock rising from the sofa, following John and Molly to the bedroom. "It has been a rather big day."

Ahaha. That'll be it for Sherlock's big day. I don't know what I thought I had planned, but I'll leave it there, shall I?

Next chapter – don't know – but probably something by Sunday/Monday as usual!

You guys better tell me what issues you want cleared up cuz: the end is near!

I don't know if I'll get to everything people suggest, but I'll try.

I'd love to hear from you.

If you're following along with the story, please chime in and say 'hi!'

Hope your weekend is shaping up nicely!

Love, JennoftheGlenn