In which we have a scene from John's past

In which John and Molly have quality time

In which Sherlock brings dinner home, but first joins the pair for time with Molly

Sexual Fluidity

Sexually fluid, thought John. Should I be proud of myself?

He rubbed his face with his hands as he sat at the desk at 221B, his laptop untouched. He was alone in the flat, waiting for Molly and Sherlock to appear from their respective days' activities, and he was thinking about times long past.

He pressed his fingers into his eyes as he recalled the first time. It had been with two cousins, both older boys, visiting with the house, children of his father's brother. One of his uncle's or aunt's birthday party. The place seemed to be suddenly swarming with kids, John remembered, mostly girls and he and his two cousins were the only boys. It was that time with families when children are younger and visits are oftener and there were a few summers in a row when these and other cousins visited John's family home in the country. Birthday party scenes came to life within the black behind John's eyes from that long ago time. After supper, and cake and presents, his two cousins, William and Matthew with John in tow went outside and ran around like hellions, like demons in the dark. William and Matthew lived closer to the city and didn't have all this country to go running in, and John had found them a little wild, literally screaming their glee at all the open space allowed to them suddenly and all the bushes and trees to hide in. All the sticks and rocks to throw at one another. They ran in and out of the house, slamming the doors, hiding and plotting against the girls, the girls who were always a sort of evil enemy. At some point, William, the elder cousin, pointed out an abandoned shed on adjoining property.

"Right, what's that?" And without waiting for answer, he struck out for it running at a good clip, Matthew close behind. John watched their retreating backs, and lit out to catch up, not wanting to be left out.

It was dusk, the light just fading, the sun already gone over the ridge upon which stood this outbuilding, the target of William's interest. John wondered what captured Bill's attention. It was just an old bit of barn that had always been there, but he kept silent.

When they got to the place, they took some time walking around it, and tried a door which was protected with an old padlock. But it was a very rickety security. William looked at it quite smugly, as if it had been made for him, and after a second go round of the small building, he hefted a rock half the size of his head, and brought it down against the hardware nailed into the old splintery wood of the door and sill. He brutalized the closure in three or four strokes of his rock, leaving the hook and eye of the hardware useless and dangling. The boys scoffed at the lock and slipped inside, pausing at the door to let their eyes get accustomed to the darker light.

John watched William as he started exploring along one stretch of a wall of the barn, pulling tools off the wall, looking at them for a moment, and trying to hang them back up with little success in the darkening light. He'd chuck the tools and other things he was looking for on the ground once he'd done with them. John remembered now that Matthew had taken stock of the place visually before he made to grab for anything. The first thing he spotted was an old sleeping bag, laid out under a storage bin, which might have kept it dry from the rain. Matthew beckoned his younger cousin to follow him to it. John remembered the sleeping bag was covered over with twigs and dirt, and was very much disused, but someone had been using this place. What for? John had wondered. Matthew kicked at the sleeping bag, and quickly uncovered a magazine.

"Hey!" Matthew alerted his brother, and the three boys had poured over the pages of naked girls. John remembered that William had taught him all manner of new words for girls' body parts that night, but of particular interest to the three youngsters were a couple of pages in which men were featured with a girl.

"Mine's that big," said William, taking out his dick from his pants, pulling on it.

"Aw! No it isn't!" Matthew leaned over laughing, taking his own prick out. "Even mine's bigger than yours!"

"Not when it's hard."

"Fuck off!"

"Fuck the fuck off! John, what about you?"

John remembered William looking at him shrewdly. Perhaps his elder cousin had been calculating the years, the likelihood of John's relative length and girth. John couldn't help but smile as he remembered his head rush, the smell of the dirt and mould of the barn, the light getting darker and darker, as he opened his pants and produced a rather impressive erection.

"Fuck me!" Matthew had said "He's fucking bigger than you! Fuck!"

"No he ain't." William had pressed against John, and then Matthew had, too, all of them showing their pricks to one another, trying to gauge which one was the biggest. Though John wasn't at all sure, Matthew seemed convinced that John was the winner of the evening's impromptu contest. John remembered the heat that had suddenly stung his face, the grin that he couldn't suppress.

"You're just small, Bill," Matthew had said. "But it don't mean anything." John had always thought that Matthew was the more thoughtful of his two cousins, but he'd had a hard time since leaving school, he recalled now. In and out of trouble with drugs, though he had seemed to clear that problem up, some ten years ago, now. Was that it? What had become of him? The last John remembered, he'd seen him at a wedding. Wasn't he alone? William had been far more successful though equipped with a much smaller dick.

A female voice was calling from the house. It might have been his mother, John thought, or one of his aunts. He couldn't remember.

"Fuck, fuck it," William had run off, out the door, but Matthew had stayed behind, looking at John. Ah, yes, John recalled, William was also a bit of a coward, too.

"Do you know how?" Matthew had asked John, as he sat on a pile of bags of something, lime or cement and pulled at his cock, getting ready to release. John had watched him wank until Matthew came, three quick little spurts as he sat, smiling at John. John had been speechless.

"That's one way to do it. But there's another way, too." Matthew had smiled.

John pressed his fingers into his eyes again as he remembered standing in the deepening gloom of the barn, barely able to make out Matthew's face, holding his dick in his hand, erect and uncomfortable, confused and feeling the need to escape when Matthew grabbed his wrist, and pulled him to where he'd been sitting. He remembered him putting his mouth on him, licking his tip more than anything, just the slightest contact when the same female voice called again from the house about a quarter mile away. John was barely aware of this, however, as there had been a sudden and deafening roar in his ears and the ground had seemed to be moving. He remembered Matthew had smiled as he did up his trousers and ran out the door.

"Come on," was all he'd said. John had looked down to see some moisture on his hand. 'Oh,' he'd remembered thinking. He'd shoved himself back into his trousers, and followed his cousin, running like hell down the hill to the house. It had been the first of a few more encounters with Matthew and then another cousin, before all that ended rather abruptly.

I don't even know where he's living, thought John. I've got to find him, see if he's ok. John remembered that there had been a moment in their relationship when John had put a wall between them. When they'd reached their late teens, he remembered being cold to him, shutting him out. Refusing to stay in the same room with him, at one time. John hung his head. I'll find him. I'll make it right if he'll let me. I was just a kid, after all. I'll find him.

"John, love?" Molly was in the flat. John stood from his chair and watched as Molly smiled, then turned to stow her bag and hang up her light spring coat. He stepped toward her and she was in his arms. Molly ran her fingers across his brow. She noticed how world weary he looked as he'd gotten up from the desk when she came in.

"Thinking hard?"

"Mmm. Thinking of Matthew."

"Ah." Molly had heard the story of Matthew before, not often, but she knew it weighed on John's mind from time to time.

"Did you – did you know, Molly? Did you see that I was – I don't know – fluid? That way?"

"Fluid. No, it didn't occur to me when I met you."

"You had other things on your mind when you actually first met me. Ahaha. You didn't even remember my name for quite a while - months?"

"Sorry. Yes. Other things on my mind." Molly blushed and hung her head, remembering the scene when she'd embarrassed herself in front of both John and Sherlock with that man – that - that – best leave the past behind, she thought.

"What about – you know when we started seeing one another – when we – started sleeping together – did that ever occur to you? That I - , that I was - "

"Fluid? I'd have to say, no, love." Molly looked into John's patient, kindly face.

"I wouldn't have thought so," said John. "I mean I don't feel that I -."

"It's only him."

"Hmm?"

"It's only him, John. It's not anyone else but Sherlock. It's a – unique sort of love story. A unique sort of love. So it's not -."

"Not really fluidity?"

"No, I think fluidity is a good way to think of it. But it's only in this one particular case. With him."

John and Molly had wandered into the kitchen, and Molly was doing some washing up, and setting out bowls, presumably for a take-away dinner. John leaned against a counter, watching her, thinking.

"Ah. So. Just him. That's – that's -."

"What, love?" Molly asked, but saw that the 'just him' scenario was working for John. She didn't want to say or do anything to interfere with his contemplation of it.

"The whole Matthew scenario is a completely normal -." Molly had said this before.

"I know it is, I'm fine with it – I was really thinking more about Matthew, just then, how I kind of ditched him when we were still kids."

"Yeah. Well," said Molly, "Also fairly normal, no?"

"No word of a lie. The other cousins were worse than I was." John remembered Matthew's general excoriation from his family when he came out to the family. Things had gotten better since then, but John shuddered, glad that he hadn't been around for that, or indeed part of it.

"You can look him up, still, love."

"I will – I will do it. I'll give his mum a call, get his number." Said John, and Molly sighed with relief. He'd never said he would do it before, but now that he said it, she knew he would keep to his word. Give him some closure on all that, she thought.

"Fluid," John murmured to himself. "Just him. Oh, when – when is he due?"

"Not for a about an hour, he texted me only a bit ago, said he would bring the food, though."

"Really?"

"Said he'd found a new place. Is there a bottle -?"

"Interested in food? Yes, there's one in here, somewhere – we didn't drink it, I – here it is." John produced a bottle of red from a cabinet.

"Yes, food and other physical things. I hope we don't ruin him for, for the -."

"For the Work, love. For science."

"Yes. Well, I think we have about 40 minutes." Molly waggled her eyebrows at her husband and smiled an impish grin.

"Oh really? Without him?"

Molly frowned and went to John, putting her arms around his neck, kissing him.

"Love you. You're paying so much attention to one another, sometimes I miss you."

"Well, that won't do at all," John said, kissing her back, and they were soon quite involved in one another.

"I've been thinking about you all day," Molly whispered., and John whispered back, though no one was there to here them.

"What would you like, love? Hmm? Tell me. Fast across the desk? Slow in the bedroom? Bizarre on the sofa?"

"What's bizarre about the sofa?"

"I don't know, I just thought it would be funny to say."

Molly took his hand and led him to Sherlock's room.

"Ahaha. Slow," she said. And when they were in the room, she continued as John undressed her piece by piece. "I want you to - put your mouth on me – then I want to ride you – but just for a little while – then I want you to take me - however you want me. Do you like that - plan?"

"Hmm, yeah – it's good – good plan."

John was already more than a little excited, pressing against her even as he tried to get her clothes off. She loved his gentleness despite his wonderfully muscular arms and chest, still carved fairly well from his time in the military. She loved the time he took with her clothes, even though he was more than ready for her. John managed to get her blouse and bra off, then slipped off her pants, and pressed her back onto the mattress, her skirt scrunched up around her waist. He knelt between her legs, leaning in to bite her inner thighs, kiss her, lick her.

"Oh, sweetheart, yes," Molly arched her back as she felt his tongue on her skin. She spread her legs wide, and adored John's strong hands on the insides of her knees, pressing her even farther apart. John was soon stroking her outer lips with his finger tips, and lightly kissing her. She moaned and writhed beneath his touch, trying to press herself against his mouth, but he teased her a little, backing away as she arched toward him. Finally he opened his mouth and pressed his lips to hers, tonguing her, biting her.

"Oh god, love, yes." Molly laced her fingers through his hair, urging him closer. His tongue and mouth moved faster and faster, now at a regular rhythm, but soon more arrhythmic and more tantalizing.

"Oh, sweetheart – I love your mouth on me -." She came quickly and fairly quietly, but hastily rolled up to her knees and was undoing John's belt and trousers.

"Ah, love, let me – Jesus – take it easy, Molly, oh, fuck." Molly sank down on John's cock, which she'd barely freed from his clothing and quickly started moving, leaning down to take his mouth with hers, completely dominating the movement and John let her do it, enjoying her abandon, her bit of violence.

He knew this next stretch of their lovemaking was a bit of theatre for her, she liked being exposed to him, loved showing him her body, stretching and bucking and thrusting against him. She whipped her head around, making a show of her hair, glancing John's face and chest with it. She was smiling at him, waiting for him, now, he knew and he took his cue, grabbing her waist and pulling her to him, rolling them over, pinning her on her back, holding her wrists over her head. He took both her wrists in one hand, hard, and slung one of her knees over his shoulder, pumping slowly, but deeply into her.

"Ok?" He asked, but she only smiled at him, her lascivious smile. He knew she wanted him to take her roughly, now, but he didn't generally like doing that, he couldn't release himself that easily, sometimes, like now. Instead, he pumped her slowly, deeply and with care. She liked this, too, he knew. Today, John saw, was going to be a rather passionate slow build, as he quickened the pace carefully, still making sure to hit her deeply at each stroke. He watched her closely, was he getting the right spot? Was he making her happy? She was generally pretty happy when he took control, but he wanted to please her so badly at these moments, he worked very hard at it.

John started to lose control a bit and was starting to swear. He was vaguely aware that Molly had a look of panic in her eyes, and that she started thrusting against him, harder and harder, not wanting him to come before her. John dropped her leg from his shoulder, and reached down, holding the base of his cock in his hand, deferring his pleasure for now. He kissed her, perhaps a little roughly and he heard her purr in approval, he pulled away and looked at her.

"Beautiful love, so beautiful. Doing ok?"

"Mmm," Molly replied. John knew Molly to go very non-verbal in bed sometimes. It both delighted and frustrated him. He looked into her eyes, and tried to understand this lovely feral creature in his arms, in his care. Why me? Why on earth didn't she wait for him? Well, we didn't know where he was he – wait – why would that have anything to do with – wait -. We didn't – John lost the thread of the thought he was having, but tried to catalogue it. He knew it was some kind of discovery for him. Remember, remember, he thought, oh fuck! Molly was moving against him harder, now and John knew she'd probably prefer Sherlock at this moment, a hard animalistic fuck to finish things off, and it only just rankled him enough. He took her chin in his hand, and kissed her hard again, then harder – she responded with bites and yelps and a wildness in her eyes.

He began to fuck her. She arched her back into him and let him have her, offering herself to him, moaning as he lost his reserve, as his gentleness fell away.

"Yes, baby," He heard her say as the last bit of sense passed out of his brain and all there was in the world was movement and Molly's eyes, desperate, pleading. He came before her, however and collapsed. She continued to move against him, and he was soon able to reposition himself between her legs, fucking her with his mouth and fingers until she was finished, arching her back, and moaning animal sounds at her climax. They lay in a heap for a few moments, John's head on Molly abdomen, their hands entwined. Then the pair were aware of a slight rustling in the room.

"Mmm, lovely John. Molly. I could watch you all day – thank you ." A deep velvety voice in the room familiar. John jerked his head toward the chair.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Molly asked. "Why didn't you come to us?"

"You seemed to have matters well in hand. And I wanted to see – well -."

"If we still cry in bed? I don't think we do any more? Well, not this time, anyway," said John.

"No," Molly agreed, "Perhaps that's past. You make us so happy, come to us, won't you?"

"Well, if you insist." Sherlock grinned, and toed off his shoes, stripping off his jacket. He slid into bed behind Molly, nuzzling her neck, licking the skin behind her ear. He stroked her backside, and slipped his fingers into her from behind.

"Mmm, lovely and wet. You and John, both."

"Yes," Molly and John said simultaneously. Sherlock hesitated, not wanting to be too much of a boor. He waited, kissing Molly's neck, gently probing her between the legs, waiting for her to invite him.

"Please, Sherlock? Won't you – won't you take me - from behind? I mean, if you'd like to?"

"Yes, of course, I will, if you'd like me to," Sherlock played at formality and asked further, "Is it all right, John?"

"Ahaha. It's just fine." John shook his head at the silliness of this little game, but went along for the ride.

Molly drew her knees up out of the way, and Sherlock knelt behind her. He kept his clothes on, only opening his trousers enough to release his erection. He pressed close to her, and slipped into her easily as she lay on her side and he concentrated on rubbing her skin with his clothes, the way he knew she liked. Molly reached for John, and they kissed as Sherlock took her gently at first, and then harder and harder, releasing rather loudly at the end, gripping Molly's shoulder at the neck, as well as John's leg.

"Molly. John," said Sherlock, as he slipped down behind Molly again stroking her. He reached for John, and John took his hand.

"Molly," Sherlock said after a few moments. "Didn't I take care of you?" Sherlock asked.

"Shh, don't worry about that. We have lots of time." Molly hushed.

"Hmm, sorry, that's quite unmannerly of me."

"Shh, love." Molly hushed again as she stroked John's face, and kissed him again.

The three lay, quietly breathing together and the only other sound was the sound of Sherlock's clock in the room. It was an old clock, with a very traditional 'tick tock,' and John had wondered if it had been Sherlock's own clock from childhood. It was a simple, calming counting of moments that soothed, John thought.

How can this be so good? Sherlock thought. He had no way of knowing, but only surmised that John and Molly were feeling the same way. And he would have been right, as all three were washed in a contentment that seemed to be healing and lovely, but also a little impossible.

Life is so short, thought Molly, enjoy each tick and each tock, she found herself thinking, as she cherished each syllable the clock spoke. They lay together for several minutes more. And Sherlock finally broke the quiet.

"Well, I've brought a curry dinner. New place. Anyone?" He kissed Molly's head, and surged out of bed, doing up his trousers. John and Molly slowly roused themselves, too and were soon putting on pyjamas and dressing gowns. Then the three trundled off to the kitchen to see about dinner.

There you have it.

Hey, sorry about the last chapter: I edited it far too little. Lots of dead wood.

Way too long. Not my finest hour!

Sheez – very sorry about that – I will try to do better!

Is Molly shaping up a little better for you, guys? Let me know what you think!

(Never wrote anything before, besides my diary! Give us a break, yeah?)

A couple more chapters, then: the end!

Don't worry, Top!Sherlock is definitely on the docket!

Jollock is not everyone's ship - sorry if I offend!

Hey, but if you like it, even a little bit, I'd love to hear from you!

In fact, PLEASE let me hear from you! Even if it's just to say 'hi!'