Sherlock and Molly complete their game

John comes home – no hard feelings

Personal Best III

At Tesco's John hovered over the milk. He knew there was a bit of milk left in the fridge, but it was always nice to make sure there was enough milk for tea. I wonder how they're doing? he wondered. Is Molly asking him for what she needs? it's so hard for her sometimes, wish she could just talk to me. John thought about Sherlock's and Molly's recent lunches in which they were getting to know one another better, as they put it. I must do the same, he thought – well – not Wednesdays, obviously. I'll have to, have to - .Oh, god. Will she prefer him? If he's better at listening to her than I am? And, oh, god, sexually. Will she prefer him to me? After all? Does she prefer him now? Oh Molly. The many headed green eyed spectre of jealousy made its first stinking, hissing appearance in John's mind. He smiled at himself, successfully dispelling the notion for the most part. But there was a greyish fog that remained in the back of his head. Dispel it altogether, or – madness. Do it now if you can!. John knew he couldn't harbour this, or there would be serious trouble. He made a mental note to talk to Sherlock about it so it wouldn't be a secret. Should talk to Molly, too, he thought.

John selected a small carton of milk and made his way to the tea things. I like Earl Grey, what's wrong with it, anyway? John wondered. I'll get some.

)))))

"Are you sore, Miss Hooper?"

Molly stretched at Sherlock's question. The bed room was darkened, but Sherlock was clearly visible, sitting up next to her against the pillows and headboard. In order to answer his question, though, she clenched her lower muscles and squirmed a bit, shifting her hips back and forth. She felt slightly sticky and wet, heavenly, but all in all none the worse for wear.

"Hmm, not really, Mr. Holmes," Molly smiled.

"Excellent. Number 8 will be intervaginal as well. As you can see, I have an erection again."

Molly looked at Sherlock who seemed to have dropped the whole former-Sherlock routine, but was continuing, with the clinical reportage, for reasons unknown to her. Maybe he just likes doing it? She thought.

"Ah, that's very impressive, Mr. Holmes." Molly laughed lightly.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper. Now, if you'll permit me?" Molly cooperated with him while Sherlock busied himself with unclipping her ankle restraints, and then her wrists. He lifted Molly to a sitting position, and brought her wrists together behind her back, clipping them there. He smiled into her eyes and whispered to her out of character.

"I rather like you bound, Molly, love, hmmhmm, very compelling." Sherlock dipped in for a kiss, then lifted her up against him, her face close to his.

"I believe they call this the lotus, Miss Hooper," said Sherlock as he gently impaled Molly on his stiff and waiting member. She cried out softly, as he gently thrust deeply, deeply into her, holding her by the waist, pushing her down onto him. Their eyes locked. Out of habit, Molly leaned in to kiss Sherlock, but he backed away, suddenly back in character. She smiled, but went back to the game, too.

"Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Hooper?"

"Do you think you could – continue to administer – oral stimulation – as well?"

"You mean in the form of kisses, little bites and other labial, lingual and possibly dental contact with the skin?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Holmes," Molly shivered at the clinical description of exactly what she wanted Sherlock to do to her.

"Hmm. It's a bit unnecessarily intimate and potentially unsanitary. I'm quite confident I'll be able to bring you to orgasm without that," Sherlock said, gently rocking Molly back and forth on his cock, biding his time, letting her get used him inside her. Molly pouted and looked away, as Sherlock continued to pulse deeply into her, a hand on her hip, the other arm around her shoulders.

"But since you ask," Sherlock continued, "I did find it to be quite – quite – pleasant." His eyes burning, Sherlock crushed his mouth against Molly's driving his tongue into her mouth, thrusting into her at the same time, gripping her hips, grinding her down onto him, pulsing her against him.

"It's not fair to let us get away with it, Molly," Sherlock's voice was strained, whispering into her ear, his breath wet and hot.

"W-What?"

"You must tell us, love, tell us what you need? We want to give it to you, I'm sure I speak for John too, don't I?"

"Yes, of course," said Molly. She was feeling Sherlock's cock so deeply inside her, she imagined it in her throat and was barely able to concentrate on the meaning of his words.

"Promise me, love, to talk to us more? Ask for what you need? I thought you did – I thought you would – please don't give up on us?"

"Yes, yes, oh," Molly was already at a plateau, while Sherlock was quite in control of himself. He started some fast shallow rough strokes, and she was coming again, her teeth set in his shoulder to muffle her sobs.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Love you, I love you both."

"Yes, Miss Hooper, lovely Miss Hooper. I love you too. We both do, we love you. We'll make it better. I promise." Sherlock held Molly for some few moments, stroking her hair, murmuring to her, rocking her gently against him, then he gently laid her down on the mattress, and stretched out next to her, reaching to undo the restraints that held her arms together. Number 8 intervaginal also achieved spectacularly. He announced to himself. He stretched out by her side and allowed Molly to come back to herself a bit.

"Yes. The lotus. Very nice." Molly murmured almost imperceptibly.

"Doesn't John do that with you?"

"Mmm, once or twice when we were – hmmhmm courting. You've never, yourself, you know, love." She reminded him.

"Yes, we're – we're - ."

"Please don't say anything idiotic." She smiled at him indulgently, and finding her wrists free, she brought them in front of her, and began to unbuckle the cuffs.

"Here, let me," Sherlock took her wrists and undid both the restraints, kissing her as he worked. He kissed her throat and her face, then her wrists and her breasts, chuckling as his lips made contact with the wax that was still on her. Then he slid down to undo the cuffs at her ankles, but as he lowered himself down her body, he put his hand on the wax that was still on her sex. He pulled some out of the hair between her legs.

"It's not perfect, but it comes out easily enough, I suppose. I'll take care of it later, don't worry."

"What have I done to you? John will be furious."

"Don't be silly. Hmm, what's that?" Molly smiled and licked her lips as Sherlock pressed his erection against her leg.

"I don't – we don't have to - ."

"Fuck me, please, Sherlock? Just one more time." She laughed. "It's Number 9, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, it is – I -." Sherlock gently slid a hand behind one of her knees, spreading her legs.

"Oh god!"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, the wax – it's – it just pulling the - It's fine, come here, I'm fine."

"Wait a moment. Whom do you want? Me? Or him? Sherlock smiled at Molly.

"What are you talk—oh." Molly considered this notion. "Him." She chose aloof Sherlock. Sherlock smiled, and mouthed 'ok' to her, and held up his hand as he composed himself. Cold, aloof Sherlock emerged.

"Well, Miss Hooper," Sherlock said, his tone entirely bored. "Our study is complete, I think. You're free to – do whatever it is you do, normally."

Molly blinked. Oh, she thought, he wants a chase?

"Oh, is it, Mr. Holmes? But you still have – an erection."

"That's certainly nothing with which you need concern yourself."

"I do, though, Mr. Holmes."

"Why?"

"I - ." Molly smiled. He was leaving it entirely to her how to proceed with this game. She decided to say what she should have said back then. "You certainly must know –how I feel about you, Mr. Holmes? How I've felt about you for years, now." Molly watched cold Sherlock become uncomfortable. She'd never seen that before, though John had told her of how he'd behaved for only a moment with The Woman. She smiled at her own power. Or the power he was letting her have. His head was down, his eyes averted when he spoke again.

"I don't know what you're, aghm, talking about, Miss Hooper."

"Yes you do. I know you do. I bought you that Christmas present. You knew it was for someone – I fancied – sexually – for someone I loved."

"Yes, but – I - ." Sherlock paused.

"Sherlock. You'll let me call you Sherlock, won't you?"

There was a pause as Sherlock rose and sat at the edge of the bed, his back to Molly. Now it was impossible to imagine he was anyone but that former Sherlock, uninvolved, cold, but, now somehow vulnerable to her line of questioning. Delicious.

"If – if you wish."

"And you must call me Molly. Will you, Sherlock?"

"If you wish - Molly."

"Sherlock, I wanted so many times – to tell you – well – I asked you to coffee, and you - ."

"What? You asked me - ?" What on earth is she talking about?

"Oh, I asked you if you wanted to go and get coffee, and – you - ."

"When?" When on earth did she ask me to coffee?

"Oh, years ago – it doesn't matter now – Sherlock, there's no reason for a person to care for another person, it just happens, and it's happened to me. I care about you. I don't want you to feel obligated at all, but wanted you to know. I think it would be a shame – if – I never said anything. I should have told you before this." Molly sat at the edge of the bed, next to Sherlock, but far enough apart from him that their nakedness didn't spoil the conceit of the game. She stood, and reached for her robe, and put it on, only facing him obliquely as she spoke. "I'm so pleased, so very lucky to know you at all. Your perfectionism, your passion for the truth, your intellect are all – so very wonderful to watch – at work. Just the specificity with which you work on your samples in the lab – I wanted you to know I felt that way." Molly collected herself for the next part of her speech. "I know I flatter myself –"

"Molly." Sherlock dropped character unable to take any more, he was completely mortified. Molly tried to go on.

"No – I know I flatter myself – to think that – you could – ever look at me and think - ."

"Molly, darling, stop this." Sherlock rose and took her in his arms. "What are you doing? Stop it now, love, hmm? La commedia est finita, no?" He ran his fingers into her hair, petting her, murmuring his love to her, and she dropped the game as well, murmuring back. The pair dropped back onto the bed in one another's arms, and they lay back, unhurried and comfortable. Then Sherlock resumed his character one more time.

"Miss Hooper. Uh, Molly."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

"You're – you are a very– I find you to be – You're a very competent pathologist, Molly."

Molly smiled to herself, and guessed where this might be going.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes. Sherlock, I mean. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Do you – do you find me attractive? As a woman?"

Sherlock paused, looking away, then looked into Molly's face, and touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"To be honest, Molly, I'd never considered the matter. But now that you ask me, I do - find you to be very attractive, very attractive indeed."

"Oh." Molly was surprised, expecting some deflection, some game, but there was none. "What a lovely compliment, Mr. – erm, Sherlock."

"Is it? I merely state a fact."

"It is, I assure you. And, if I may - you enjoyed administering - oral stimulation – earlier? For science?" It was very hard for Molly to keep the giggles out of her voice.

"Yes, it's true, I did." Sherlock seemed to be curious about this question, looking away , puzzled.

"Do you think you would ever want to - do it – for its own sake? For it's own pleasures? With science – on hold – so to speak?"

"Put – science on hold?" Sherlock smiled, and Molly wasn't sure if he was breaking character, or if aloof-Sherlock were making a convenient realization.

"Yes, on hold. For pleasure. For – me?"

"What an interesting notion, Molly. It was very – very - ." Sherlock leaned in to her and kissed her, softly, tentatively. He pulled back, his face a question mark. "And – you don't – mind, if I – proceed?"

"I would like it very much, Sherlock."

"Ah – would you? Then - ." Sherlock kissed her rather awkwardly at first, and she helped him, giggling a little at his game, knowing what he was playing at. She taught him how to move his tongue, how to nip at her neck, she encouraged him not to hold back his strength. When he started to move on top of her, pressing her down, her mind reeled. Is he, is he going to - ?

"You don't – mind – Molly – if we – proceed?"

"Oh, I would like it very, very much, Sherlock."

His fingers on her cheek, his eyes locked on hers, Sherlock pressed Molly's knees apart with his own, and gently entered her. His muscles trembling somewhat, he held her like this, his length deeply embedded in her as he looked into her eyes. He leaned in to kiss her again, and then he started to move. What an idiot I was for not seeing what a marvellous creature she was and how she was coming on to me all the time back then well there's something a little bit wrong with me after all oh god she's so lovely when on earth did she ask me to coffee?

Sherlock smiled as he moved against Molly, still cataloguing information the way he used to, his old system, flawless. The wax on her body was ticklish at first and he almost laughed, but he didn't want to give up the game. Then its foreign spikiness became an irritant, then it was a weirdly illicit, feeling that became erotic and it was suddenly pressing him closer to the end much sooner than he'd anticipated.

"Sorry – I – close -." he managed. He looked at Molly who was smiling up at him, knowing that the game was up, and that he was just trying to hang on. She herself wasn't quite as involved, and was merely watching him, enjoying their union.

"It's all right, sweetheart, you're lovely, Sherlock, I love you," she whispered in his ear, kissing him, and he was finished. His body stiffened and he came rather quietly, then lay in her arms for a moment, before he rolled off her to the side.

"That was lovely Mr. Holmes."

"Mmm, yes Miss Hooper," Sherlock smiled, though he was quite ready to give up this game, now. "Wait," he suddenly remembered, "When did you ask me out to coffee?"

)))))

John entered the flat and found himself blinking his eyes at the tell tale smell in the room of recent sex. He went to the windows and immediately opened them, letting in the still cool spring air, slightly clammy. He looked toward the bedroom door, and saw that it was closed. Thank god, at least they had the sense to keep it shut. Actually it could be much worse in here. He went off to the kitchen and set out bowls and cutlery and opened a bottle of wine, all the while smiling and chuckling to himself. He returned to the sitting room and his chair with a newspaper and it was only a couple more minutes before Sherlock emerged from the bedroom in nothing at all but his blue dressing gown cinched at the waist, quietly shutting the door behind him. He smiled at John, and fairly limped toward the doctor in his chair, scratching his scalp with both hands. He reeked of sex, John could already smell him, and he looked utterly destroyed, though quite satisfied. The two male creatures regarded one another. John considered jealousy, and Sherlock wondered if his friend would harbour any. Sherlock smiled, waiting for John to do the same, and the two men looked at one another for some few moments. Sherlock tilted his head, questioningly and finally John grinned and then spoke.

"Come here," he said, putting down his paper, and uncrossing his legs.

Sherlock took a couple of steps toward John and hesitated between his own chair and John's. It had been a splendid day, and Sherlock felt quite empowered within the relationship. He didn't exactly feel like being subordinate to John just at this moment. Sitting in John's lap had only ever been delightful, comforting and just nice, but it would be somewhat – oh, just use the word: emasculating. Sherlock considered his options. I could say 'no.' But to what end? Hurt him? Today? After this absurd exercise in sexual one-ups-manship? Just when he needs to feel in control, when he needs to feel dominant. No, I won't do that. Sherlock smiled confidently, and gently lowered himself into John's lap the way he usually did, letting John put his hands on his waist, letting John touch him and stroke his hair. It was a complete reversal for Sherlock, in only a matter of seconds and it was a bit unsettling for him. But Sherlock sank into it, intent on enjoying it, and was able to, genuinely after only a few moments of adjustment.

"Pah." John said quietly, as he took in Sherlock's scent, burying his face in his hair.

"Hmmhmm, yes I probably need to bathe. Sorry." Sherlock moved as if to get up, but John held him lightly.

"Not at all, not at all. Hmm, you smell like Molly." John nuzzled Sherlock's hair, breathing in the musty scent of sex, then kissed his partner's neck. The smell of him was at first somewhat off-putting to say the least, but then it did something to John, and a hot prickly feeling ran through his body. John hugged his friend tightly, kissing him more urgently, nipping at his neck, and Sherlock leaned his head back, allowing John's attentions without participating, without reciprocating. John smiled as he peeled a bit of the silk away from Sherlock's chest. Sherlock had only ever been completely dressed when sitting in John's lap in this chair, and John relished the bare skin beneath the dressing gown. John kissed his friend's lovely neck, tonguing the hollow of his throat, then brushed his lips lower, gently moving the blue silk out of the way, revealing smooth pale skin, tender pink nipples. John reached down and ran his hand over Sherlock's bare leg and backside, feeling the muscles beneath the skin, kneading him, gripping him. Sherlock was letting go now, and purred. They sat quietly while John gently stroked Sherlock's throat and collarbone with his lips.

"We, aghm, went for Molly's record of orgasms achieved in one day." Sherlock spoke after some long moments. His voice was a little unsteady due to John's unexpected but lovely attentions.

"Ahaha. I assumed - something like that."

The two men chuckled warmly together, and Sherlock felt comfortable, but wanted to make sure John was all right. He was keenly aware of something, something in the room between them.

"It was ridiculous, John. But - John?"

"Mmm?"

"Is it – a problem? Might it be? A problem? That we did this today? Spent the day – in bed? That we, that we - ?" Sherlock only considered the possibility that John was jealous when he'd first seen him in the room. His bearing, even in the chair with the paper in front of him was different, more tense, more terse. Sherlock could feel the strain in the air, still. Even sitting quietly there was usually a lighter quality to John than this, and Sherlock was a little terrified he'd taken a misstep.

"I did have a moment Tesco's, I'll have to be honest with you."

"Ok. Tell me - ?"

"Mmm. I thought 'What if she prefers him? Sexually? What if he's better than I am at guessing her needs, fulfilling her?' That's what I thought."

"Mmm. Yes. I'm – I'm – I didn't mean to – John, I never meant to -." Sherlock became a bit panicky and John could feel the agitation build in his friend's body. He certainly hadn't meant to cause him this kind of anxiety and tried to save the moment.

"You don't have to say anything at all. And you certainly don't need to apologize. That we're able to do this, I think, talk immediately, is – it's half the battle, isn't it?" The two sat quietly for a moment.

"You won't - ," John began only half joking, "You won't take her from me, will you? I – I'd - ."

"John, if I ever thought - I'd have to leave – you. Both of you."

"Oh, love, we can't have that, either," John pressed his lips to his friend's cheek.

"And Molly?" Sherlock asked.

"What about her?"

"Are you – angry with her? In any way?"

"No, I'm not angry with her – with anyone. I'm – I'm just - you know, concerned – a selfish kind of - panic - for myself. That's all. I'm – actually – I enjoyed thinking about you two all day, that's why I phoned you. I had a bit of a laughing jag at one point – I know Molly will have enjoyed herself. She has in such – cases – Ahaha. Did – you? Did you enjoy yourself, love?"

"Hmmhmm. Yes, I did. Mmm, John." Sherlock let his head loll back against the chair. "Yes, touch me."

Despite his day of domination, of fulfilled masculinity, Sherlock tucked his face into the crook of John's neck, and let his friend pet him like a cat, stroking him, nuzzling and kissing him, murmuring his name as if he were a child.

"Oh, how lovely you two are in that chair. I can't get enough of seeing you like this." Molly had slipped out of the bedroom and was wearing her dressing gown of deep red silk. Her hair was a crazy arrangement of strands and knots, but it was becoming, even so and she dropped into Sherlock's chair opposite the two men and smiled at them.

"I've opened the windows. We'll change the sheets before bed. We - made a bit of a mess." Molly felt the tension in the room, but it seemed to be dissipating, even as she sat in the chair, as she spoke. "Is everything all right, John, love? It's – it's all right, isn't it?" Molly sensed John's tension, but sensed it would only be temporary.

"I think so. You won't pack up with Sherlock and leave me, will you? I'd disintegrate. I'd be ruined." John knew the level of exaggeration he was using was inconsequential. He hugged Sherlock to him tightly, forcing a little breathy sound out of his friend.

"No, love. 'Til death us do part." Molly approached John and Sherlock and hooked a hip onto the arm of John's chair, putting her feet carefully on John's knees, and leaned in. Her nose was only centimeters from Sherlock's and John's. "No, love," she said again. You're both going to have to get used to having me around."

John pressed his lips to Molly's cheek, then pecked her lips with his, then kissed her again more tenderly, to be sure to show her there were no hard feelings. He whispered to her, a laugh in his voice, but no malice.

"Did you get properly done today, love?"

"Hmmhmm," Molly kissed John back, "I think so, love. He's very lovely."

"If I ever thought that I could be the cause -." Sherlock began.

"Shhhh!" Molly and John shushed him together, and then rejoined their hissing with more admonishments like 'don't be ridiculous,' and 'have you lost your mind?'

"We need you, love. We don't work without you."

"Perhaps it's a little overstated, Molly, love, but, Sherlock, you've – you've seen us together – when you were out of town – when we thought you were out of town." John whispered in his ear, loud enough for Molly to hear, "You make us so happy."

"I love it when we make love, and you sneak into the room, somehow, Sherlock, it's thrilling," Molly put in as a side note. There was a not at all uncomfortable lull during which the three simply enjoyed their proximity to one another. Each of them had a hand on each of the others, petting, stroking, or even just swirling a thumb around and around. Fingertips on a cheek, the back of a hand on a pectoral muscle, knuckles against a throat, gently stroking.

"Well, is anyone hungry?" John offered, and they all laughed together. The three rose from Nana's chair, and in a clump, no one of them willing to stray far from the others, they toddled into the kitchen for their supper. They ate their meal quietly, sitting or leaning, and there was no mention of how many, or with whom, or the boy and girl from uni.

)))))

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