In which several different things happen

Lots of fun, I hope

'John, love'

The morgue was filled with people, hospital officials, the police, Lestrade among them not to mention Donovan and Anderson. Then there were the victim's family members, tons of them, an MP of some note and well beloved. The place was actually getting hot and stuffy, not at all its usual cold sterile self and John was finding it hard to catch his breath. He was relieved to have Sherlock's text, beckoning him to the lab, where Molly and he were working, but as soon as he made to leave a large contingent of police including LeStrade, Donovan and Anderson saw him leaving, and followed him out of the morgue to the lab.

Sherlock and Molly were close to finishing an analysis on a fibre sample and needed to have Anderson nearby in case the analysis was inconclusive. Anderson would have to take the sample to the police labs for further testing. John took his place next to Sherlock, who was leaning over Molly, as the two of them worked on the sample that could show that the drowning of the victim had either been accidental or if there had been an interloper in the victim's bathroom. If there had been an interloper, the fibre would link the murder to two other deaths in recent weeks, which pointed to the likelihood of a serial killer.

"Damn, I need a pencil or – damn it - John, love!" Sherlock snapped his fingers and without looking up, he held his open hand to John.

"Yes, I've got one here, I've got a pencil here, somewhere! Somewhere for fuck's sake!" John tried to gloss over Sherlock's slip as best as he could, but Lestrade had heard, and Donovan was arching an eyebrow. Mercifully, no one else seemed to have heard, though there were plenty about that might have, if they had been listening carefully. John saw that Sherlock didn't seem to have noticed his slip, so involved was he in his investigation, his eyes riveted on his microscope as he continued to hold his hand out to John, waiting for the promised pencil. John looked at Molly as he located a mechanical pencil and placed it in Sherlock's hand. John wondered if Molly, too was so involved with the sample that she didn't notice, either – but, no- there was her look, a brief flash over Sherlock's shoulder to John, brief but alarmed, then her focus returned to the fibre sample. Lestrade stepped over to John and questioned him quietly in his ear.

"Hey, was it my imagination or did Sherlock just call you 'John, love?'"

John was ready and he did the best double take he could at Lestrade, and then spoke.

"Oh, did he? Yeah, he may have. Ahaha. He's done that a couple of times. Does it to Molly, too. Watch out, he'll be calling you 'Greg, love,' if you're not too careful. Ahaha." John paused, then added, as offhandedly as he could manage, "I think – people who are close to him, you know?" John had carefully rehearsed the reaction and the line over a long period of time, weeks, no months. Probably from the moment Sherlock had first called him 'John, love' in bed. John had even practiced it in front of Molly and had taken her criticism. He'd brought it up with Sherlock, but his friend had only waved him off and scoffed at the idea of any kind of cover story.

"I'll never call you that in public, for god's sake, I promise," he had said, waving a hand.

"But in a heated moment, when you're not paying attention, it won't be the focus of your attention after all, and I'm just suggesting -."

"John, you're being ridiculous!"

"I'm just thinking we need to have a cover story in case one of us does it. What if I do it? I could easily do it – slip and call you - ."

Sherlock saw that John was trying to ameliorate the situation by claiming that he, too, could make a slip in public, but Sherlock knew John was concerned with him, and him alone making such a slip.

"Now, that I must agree with. I will surely call you 'John, love' long before you ever call me 'Sherlock, love' in public. That's perfectly true." Sherlock had crossed his arms over his chest, and bitten his lips together, about as defiantly as he'd ever done before with John. (John had seen that Sherlock was reprimanding him for not being verbally affectionate with him, and he had had to prove his affection to him that very afternoon, but that's a whole other story.)

In the lab with Lestrade, John was confident in his acting skills, rudimentary though they were and now he was looking at Greg, gauging his reaction to Sherlock's slip up. Had it worked? John carefully watched the DI, and – yes. The idea of being called 'Greg, love,' in front of his subordinates, in front of anyone, in front of this crowd, for god's sake, wasn't sitting well with him at all, and his amusement fell away from his face. He actually took a step away from the work space where the lab equipment was being used, where Sherlock and Molly were working.

"Well for fuck's sake, I hope he calls me 'Greg,' before he calls me 'Greg, love.'"

"Ahaha, ahahaha," John laughed with some anxiety but put in, "well, you never know – you know, with him."

"No, I s'pose not." Greg cocked his head and looked more carefully at John, however, and noted his anxiety. John recognized Greg's shrewd police stare and tried to let go, relax, but he couldn't, and he could feel that he may have made things worse. But there was nothing to be done, now, and he turned back to Sherlock and Molly who were once again immersed in their work.

Finally the analysis was complete.

"Inconclusive!" Sherlock shouted, chucking a slide across the room.

"All right, give me the rest of it," Anderson moved in and picked up the remainder of the fibres while John watched every muscle in Sherlock's face tense up with frustration and rage.

"Try not to muck it up this time, please," Sherlock muttered under his breath. He'd asked Molly if she could do the tests in Bart's lab, but she confessed that Bart's lacked the required equipment..

"Well. There it is, nothing for it." said Sherlock under his breath, then shouted. "When?! How long 'til these results are in?"

"About 6 hours." Anderson was already leaving the lab.

"Try to work quickly, please!" Sherlock was frustrated and snarling, his usual self when on a case like this, and he made to leave the room as soon as he'd gathered his few findings, John in his wake. Molly followed them to the door.

"I'll be home the usual time, love. Shall I expect you later? Quite late?"

Both Sherlock and John turned to Molly and answered her at the same time.

"If at all!"

"I'll call you, love!" John had added, seeing Lestrade notice the exchange. "But you should take care of yourself for supper, yeah?"

"All right. Please be careful. And just – please be careful!" Molly said things twice sometimes. It was her secret way of including Sherlock in the things she said to John at such times, with people around and she knew John passed along her messages like this to Sherlock when it was possible, when he thought Sherlock would be receptive. She didn't like having to be secret, but she did the best she could.

"Yes, yes! Obviously! I hadn't thought of that. If we just have another look at the crime scene?" Sherlock looked to Lestrade.

"Be my guest, just don't give the lads and ladies too much trouble, will you, for god's sake?"

"I will charm with my ebullient, effulgent personality."

"Well, I wouldn't do that either, whatever it is, yeah? John? Just try to -."

"I will – I will – we won't take long."

Sherlock was involved with his phone then and turned to go. He didn't add anything further and John heaved a sigh of relief to himself as he pecked Molly's cheek and followed the dark coated figure whisking out of the lab, the hem of his coat fluttering behind him.

)))))

"If you give him enough clues, he can figure it out, Sherlock." John brought up Sherlock's verbal slip in the cab on the way back to the crime scene, where Sherlock wanted to check another area for the same fibre.

"Are you quite sure I said it at all, John? I think you're being paranoid."

"Sherlock, he asked me if you said it. He said, "'did he call you John, love?'" I said "'He does that sometimes, better watch out or he'll call you Greg, love.'"

"Oh. Well, fine, I'll just call him 'Greg, love', is that what you're suggesting?"

The two men looked at one another, actually considering the idea.

"Too obvious."

"Well, I quite agree, John, it's ridiculous."

"But we may have to resort to that as a back up – in the future, if this keeps -."

"Shut up, shut up!" Sherlock was back at his phone tracking down some ingredients in the dye used in the fibre samples. Then the cab deposited them at the crime scene, and the pair of them hopped out. All business, now, they strode toward the door of the building that seemed to be enveloped in yellow tape.

)))))

Donovan sidled up to Molly in the lab, collecting some paper work for the case.

"Bad luck about that result, huh? Now we have to wait for the police lab."

"Yeah, but it'll be done quickly enough, I'm sure." Molly smiled, distracted, trying to keep some notes in the type of order Sherlock had asked her for.

"Yeah, and so the day's almost done for you – That's a relief. Home to Baker Street."

"Yeah, home to Baker Street."

"221B Baker Street."

"Yeah."

"The famous 221B."

"Yeah, oh, no – Ahaha, that's my husband's old address. When he lived with Sherlock." Molly looked at Donovan. "We live down the way a bit." Donovan, Molly noticed, was looking at her with a very funny look, a look that suggested she saw something that wasn't there at all.

"Yeah, you three like to keep close, huh?"

"Well, Sherlock and John, you know."

"Oh, no, I don't." Donovan smiled wickedly.

"I'm sorry? They – you know, they work together."

"Oh, yes, of course. Hmm. What's the address?" Donovan asked.

Molly paused, looking at Donovan, who was smiling but Molly was done smiling, now.

"Why do you ask? For my – home address?"

"Just curious. To see if you remembered it." Donovan removed her paper work, and made for the door.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Molly's full attention was on Sally now, and the woman continued smiling that smug smile at her as she backed out of the room, toward the door, continuing to watch Molly's reactions.

"I don't know. Just rubbish, probably. Right?"

"I - ?" Molly shook her head, not knowing what had hit her. Then Sally Donovan slipped out the door, and was gone.

What the fuck was that all about? Molly thought to herself, a chill creeping up her spine. She quickly fired a text off to John.

Spinach. Safeway. Luv you luv you.

John responded quickly.

Ok. Geez, spinach, are you sure? - J

To which Molly responded.

Yes, quite sure, you'll luv it. How's it going, btw?

And John's response.

Ok, talk later, luv. -J

'K – luv, bye..

'Spinach' and 'Safeway,' was Molly & John's code for a possible breach of secrecy with regard to the relationship, and signaled John (or Molly, depending on who was texting whom) to go to their apartment at day's end, rather than to 221B. John had tried to bring Sherlock up to speed on their little code system, but he had only scoffed at them, telling them no one would care, and if anyone found out, it wouldn't matter. But Donovan's reaction to Molly, and their brief and strange conversation left no doubt in Molly's mind that Donovan was still interested in damaging Sherlock for some reason. Why? Why? Can't she just leave him be? But Molly realized that the humiliation that Donovan and Anderson had had to swallow when Sherlock returned, vindicated, was probably too much to take. Molly knew that damage could easily be done to Sherlock's career again, and why not John's as well? Possibly even her own, if their relationship were to be found out by Sally Donovan. Why take chances?

At home, Molly glanced through the fridge and tossed out the rotten milk, and bits of desiccated fruit and take away that were left from the last time they'd been in the flat. It was late at night, and she had taken the opportunity with her two men gone, to tidy a bit. Mostly do some dusting. How horrid things could get even when you weren't using a place. She smiled at the flat as she worked, remembering her brief married life and how relatively sweetly and normally she and John were falling into a routine as the months wore on in their marriage. She remembered being desperate for Sherlock's return, but as time wore on, while she thought if Sherlock never came back, it would be cruel, horribly cruel, but with John, it might be bearable. But then Sherlock reappeared, he reappeared and it was a miracle. An answered prayer, and it had only taken some weeks to convince John to approach Sherlock and suggest a 'sharing' arrangement. Molly's thoughts were interrupted with the sound of a key in the door.

"Hello, sweetheart? What's up?" John was in the flat with some take-away, his face concerned, his lips impossibly pursed. Molly explained the exchange she'd had with Donovan.

"Oh, good lord. Well, she is good, no matter how we may feel about her. We could have a real problem here, if she still wants to fuck us up."

"Did you make it clear to him that it's a real danger? I mean, John, they could have someone staked out watching the doors to the two flats right now. They could have cameras in here, easily."

"I did what I could. He assured me he'd go home, and come over later by the back way."

On cue, there was loud thud in the bedroom, and in a few moments Sherlock was in the kitchen with them.

"You really shouldn't leave the window open, Molly, particularly in the bedroom. Just anyone could appear." Sherlock threw up his hands to emphasize his little joke. "Now what on earth is going on, that I have to climb over fire escapes and rooftops like a monkey to get to you?" He was in high spirits, and smug, having solved the case hours before Anderson's tests on the fibre sample would be completed. John and Molly filled him in about Molly's conversation with Donovan. Sherlock sobered, but wasn't at all distraught.

"I haven't treated her very well, have I?" Sherlock said, uncharacteristically thoughtful about someone outside their little group. "Well, I suppose there are worse things than taking proper precautions. I've taken these out."

Sherlock pulled two small cameras out of his pocket.

"These were trained on our front door above Mrs. Hudson's door. There's a little -."

"Yes, that depression in the bricks -."

"Yes, one was there. And the other was outside my bathroom window - whence I snuck out. But I got it before I left. What. The fuck?"

Sherlock had picked up some colourful language besides little items like 'John, love,' owing, most probably to his close association with John whose every other fucking word was 'fuck.' John quite liked it, but Molly looked askance at it. She endured it, however, because she took it as a sign of how well he and John were getting on.

"Ask Mycroft if any of this stuff is his, and how many other items there might be?"

"Ah, excellent suggestion, John. I have already texted him. On the roof. By light of the moon. Waiting for his reply, but I'm confident it's not Mycroft's people." His mood didn't seem to abate.

"What's so - fun for you? We could be found out. We could have some trouble, Sherlock, you know?" John was getting slightly irritated, and the confinement of the smaller flat, and it's unfamiliarity with the three of them together was somewhat grating to him as well. Molly could feel his ire mount.

"Yes, what is it, Sherlock? What aren't you telling us?" Molly, too felt there was something else to the story. But they were both wrong, and Sherlock's face fell.

"N-nothing – I - ." Sherlock looked at his two friends, and realized he would quite like to be found out. He didn't want to keep it hidden, keep things a secret any more. Naturally, he wasn't going to go against what Molly and John wanted or needed, but for himself, if it were in the open, he would be not only fine with it, but quite relieved, quite – happy, for people to know. Yes, he thought, I would be happy for people to know – that I'm happy. But this cannot be, because it would cause them so much pain and trouble. What have I been thinking?

"No, nothing at all – I beg your pardon, I know it's - -it's important to both of you. But you must see, it's not to me – it's quite the opposite – I mean -. I'm sorry. I wish – I wish we could - . "

"Oh, love," Molly saw what he meant. "He wants people to know, John. Do you see? It's hard on him."

Sherlock was abashed, hung his head, couldn't look John in the eye.

"Well, we can't, we simply can't, for god's sake. There's too much at stake."

"John, he knows that, he's on a high from the case, can't you see that? He hasn't come back down."

"Oh," Sherlock didn't at all like Molly's tone, or her reference to him as if he weren't in the room at all. "Oh, not to worry, I've come down now. Excuse me." On a high from the case? Really Molly, I would have expected slightly more from you. Sherlock retraced his steps to the bedroom and swung out onto the fire escape. He half expected Molly to follow him, but she and John were now engaged in a loud discussion that was somewhat argumentative in tone. He didn't really care to listen to it. He imagined Molly scolding John for being insensitive to him, while John didn't think there was anything wrong with not wanting anyone to know about their relationship. Sherlock turned the volume of the confrontation down in his mind. He placed his concentration on the stars instead, what few were visible in the city, even at this time of night. Just a little misunderstanding. He thought to himself. We're much better than this, we really are. Let them shout it out amongst themselves, I'll just hang here on the fire escape landing like a bat until the mêlée is done, and then – oh, who knows. Maybe go back to the flat? No. Too lonely. Too empty and lonely without them. Sherlock felt his body shake slightly. The cold? No. Tears. Weeping. What a cliché. It's disgusting, really. He drew the back of his hand across his face, his nose and the gesture made him feel quite like a child again. He remembered many nights like this, when his parents and Mycroft fought with one another, and he'd creep off somewhere, still within earshot of the scuffle, but out of sight, and mostly out of mind, until the air cleared a bit and the dust settled. This was a little different. This mattered to him, but it was between John and Molly, more than anything to do with him. He sighed. Molly will have to explain by herself to John that Sherlock understood there was nothing to be done and that announcing to the world that the three of them were in a relationship was out of the question. He understood that it would always have to be kept a secret. How can John think I'd want to announce it? Want it discovered? No, no, no. Little misunderstanding, that's all. Yes, he understood it would always be a filthy little secret to be kept from the world, but Molly would have to explain that it would always make him a little bit sad.

"But how, Molly? How are we to show him we love him more?" John was trying to appease his wife on the issue of leaving Sherlock out of the relationship.

"It's attitudes like the one we've just displayed. He's kind of happy that we might be discovered. He'd never try to make it happen, he'd never reveal it, but we have to be more sensitive to the fact that it would make him happy, that's he's a little happy about it, even if he's not quite conscious of it."

"Jesus, if he's not quite conscious of it, how can I be, for fuck's sake?"

"We have to do something – something to bring him closer, to help him know we're in earnest."

"Molly, in earnest?! I don't know how we can do that. I mean, we – we stay over at his every single fucking night with rare exceptions."

"Yes."

"I have – Molly, love, I have rearranged my sexuality - seemingly by force of fucking will, for god's sake. A thing I didn't think was possible, before, and I'm a physician."

"I know, John, I - ."

"We, oh, my god, we literally tie him to the fucking bed! What more? In what way can we be more clear about our intentions?"

"I know, but we need to -."

"We shag him until he weeps, until I weep, we weep. For god's sake, what more, what fucking more can we do – to – to prove our – our -?"

"Troth."

"Yes. Yes. Our - troth – our troth. Well."

"What?"

John paused in his shouting, and Molly breathed a sigh, grateful for the quiet even if it were to be momentary. He didn't often shout, he was a very quiet man, but when he got into it, it was only shouting.

"I don't know," John said at a more acceptable volume level. "No. Probably too senti for him."

"What?"

"No, he'd never go for it. It's so twee."

"John Watson, you will tell me this instant what you - ."

"Rings."

"Oh. John!"

"You think?"

"Yes. Something – a little traditional."

"Yes. Something a little – normal. But not twee." John looked at his own ring, then at Molly's.

"No, no. Not twee." Molly looked at John's face. "John, our wedding rings are not twee."

"They might be - a little."

"Well, then, let them be. I love mine." Molly smiled at her husband, and he took her hand, and looked at her two rings, rubbing them between his thumb and fingers. Remembering their normal life. Almost normal. Before Sherlock reappeared.

"Would you wear another one? What finger?"

"Doesn't matter that we wear them. Only that we have them. That we offer one. But, yes, I would, I think I would."

"Yes. Yes, of course." John winked at his wife. "Make it a surprise?"

"Yes. Where is he? Did he go back to his?" Molly stepped into the bedroom and finding it empty, looked up the fire escape to a large inert form, dark against the moon.

"Werewolf? Vampire? Large flightless roosting creature?"

"Hmm, yes, that last one.." said Sherlock, looking down. "All done?"

"Yes, love, please come in, will you?"

"Hmm." Sherlock considered pointing out the slight he had perceived when Molly had observed aloud that he was still on a high from the case, but discarded the notion. I won't be a trouble maker, after all that. He thought. No, I won't harbour a grudge, not against these people, not against these two. He swung down from his perch overhanging the alley.

"We would have to come and get you, love. Or go to yours to stay."

"Too dangerous. Don't try it, unless it's an emergency, all right? Promise me?" Sherlock said as he clamoured down the wire-thin rungs.

"Because I'm a woman I can't climb fire escapes?"

"Because you're not an idiot and not used to doing such idiotic things as climbing fire escapes. And other nonsense." Sherlock kissed her, and lowered himself into the bedroom again through the window. John was seated on the bed.

"Were you going back to yours?" Molly continued the conversation only for the sake of continuing the conversation.

"Too lonely at mine. Hey," Sherlock acknowledged John in the room.

"Sorry about that -," John began.

"That's – it's - ." Sherlock waved a hand.

"Little misunderstanding," John shrugged his apology.

"Yes, of course. Ah - sorry."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

"Neither did you. Little misunderstanding. As you say."

"All right, you two. I'm going to clean my teeth." Molly stepped to the bathroom, with a clean towel over her shoulder.

John looked at Sherlock seated on the still open window sill, and it made him nervous. He didn't like the look of him so close to another precipice. It was becoming a thing.

"Hey, can you, come into the room, properly, or shut the window, if you really need to sit there?"

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and realized what John was looking at.

"Yes, of course," He rose from his perch and stepped into the room, hovering a little uncomfortably. Molly and John's room. He'd been in here before, of course, but had they ever made love here? Oh, once with Molly. But never John. Though he had slept over a number of times. How delightful.

"Do you want to – take off your coat?" John stood, and held out his hand, "I'll hang it up for you."

Sherlock slipped out of his coat and slung it on the chair.

"This is fine, John, love." He took the hand that was offered to him in his own, and drew the doctor to him. John resisted, turning away as he often did when the two were standing and Sherlock offered affection in this way. John could finally admit to himself, but no one else: it unsettled him that Sherlock was taller than he was. He felt weakened, unempowered, emasculated, yes, yes, diminutive. It didn't matter in bed, or in every day life. He was shorter than almost all men of his acquaintance. But when he tries to – take me in his arms – as if I were - a woman – I'm not able to -

"Oh – are you – cross with me? - ." Sherlock put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and the two men stood still for a moment. Then John turned back to Sherlock, and let him take him in his arms.

"Of course not, why would I be cross?"

"Because I'm so much taller than you are?" What do you think you're doing? Is this stupid joke worth putting him off again?

Sure enough, Sherlock felt John stiffen in his arms, and retreat.

"That's not - Ahaha. You're not that tall," John pulled away. "Come on, let go."

"Come on, no." Sherlock was mocking him a little, he knew. Would he take the joke, or would he get angry, he wondered. I shouldn't tease him on this issue, what am I doing?

"John, love you were right, I meant to say," Sherlock tried a different tack.

"W-what?" John stopped struggling for a moment, listening to the hardly-ever-pronounced words he'd just heard Sherlock speak.

"About me – saying, blurting out in public -."

"Oh. Yes. You see? We need, we need to put some -."

"Yes, safeguards."

"Yes." John felt Sherlock's hands stroking his flank and the back of his neck, then ruffling his hair.

"Wait," he said, "did you just say that to – to get me to let you hold me?"

"Well, I meant it, though. You were right."

John pulled firmly and definitively away from Sherlock, and moved to the dresser, where he pulled out pyjamas. A pair for Sherlock and one for himself. He threw Sherlock's to the bed.

"Master manipulator." John said.

Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh, and then hung his head in frustration.

"John, love, I'm sorry. I don't want to manipulate you. Will you please just let me hold you? Standing up? Like the grown men we are? Of our different and utterly random and meaningless heights?. In the privacy of our - your bedroom. Will you please let me?"

"Oh, dear." Molly had stepped into the room in time to hear Sherlock's last speech. John froze at the dresser. Give in. It will feel better than hurting anyone's feelings. It will feel much, much better. And tonight, John thought, when Donovan is watching us, for god's sake. Yes. We should stick together. Who knows how long we can – sustain this? How long can anyone?

"Yes, of course." John breathed the words so quietly that only Molly heard him, as she was standing in the bathroom door, right next to the where John was. She nodded to Sherlock, briefly closing her eyes in relief.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock stepped up behind John. He leaned down nuzzling John's neck, putting his arms around him. "Thank you, John, love." Sherlock made little circles with his mouth against John's skin as John held the edge of the dresser, and Sherlock felt him tremble against him slightly. "John, love." Sherlock's palms were flat against the doctor's chest, now, smoothing down the front of his shirt, pulling the tails out of his waistband. "Love." Sherlock ran his hands up John's flanks, under his shirt, his fingernails, leaving a light trail.

"Yes, of course," John said more loudly, turning to Sherlock, slowly. He pressed his face into Sherlock's chest, and raised his arms, encircling Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was delighted, but taken completely by surprise. This is submissive behavior, Sherlock thought, completely deferential. He's ready to take anything I give him. It's almost like a physical apology – for something. Surrender.

"John." Sherlock avoided anything overtly sexual for now, though they'd come so far, so far. He held his friend in as soothing a way as he could, combing his fingers through his hair, stroking his neck, his arms, kissing his head, his temple, all the while purring his contentment. At length, he reached for the buttons on John's shirt. "May I?" he asked, and John only nodded, without lifting his head. Sherlock undressed him gently, unbuttoning his shirt, and peeling it away, lifting his t-shirt over his head, undoing his belt and trousers, smoothly slipping them over John's hips, and down his legs. He waited for John to toe off his shoes and step out of his clothing, then Sherlock lifted the trousers and pants from the floor, dropping them into the chair. He rose from the floor to see John's head still bowed, averted from him, submissive. What's it all about? Sherlock wondered. Then lifted the doctor's chin to face him.

"All right?" Sherlock asked.

"Perfectly." John smiled his open, trusting smile at him, and Sherlock felt the warmth of it spread through him.

"Bed?" Sherlock inclined his head to where Molly was already lying, watching the drama before her unfold.

"Mmm. Clean teeth?" John inclined his the other way.

Sherlock smiled and followed John into the bathroom who located a fresh toothbrush for Sherlock. They cleaned their teeth, grimacing foamily into the mirror together.

In the bedroom, John slipped into the middle, and took Molly in his arms, and Sherlock took his time undressing, quietly assessing what his people wanted, what they needed. While John had turned his back to the area left in the bed for Sherlock to sleep, Sherlock could tell that John was anticipating his getting into bed. There it is, he thought as he saw John's shy glance over his shoulder at Sherlock. Waiting for me. Wanting me. Molly seemed patient and game as ever. Sherlock slipped into bed and put his arms around John, reaching down to find his half hard erection, as he brushed John's shoulders with his lips, and the ragged stubble of his late night beard.

"Molly, do you mind if I – monopolize him a bit?" Sherlock asked as he slid down John's body, leaving a long wet mark with his tongue as he licked John from his shoulder to his waist. He pressed John's hips back against the mattress until he was lying on his back, and spread his knees open. John cooperated, breathing less steadily, but more rapidly as Sherlock lowered his head to tongue the tip of his cock. John reached a hand into Sherlock's hair, gently taking a fistful in his grasp.

"Not at all, love. John? All right?" Molly and Sherlock were in silent smiling communication with one another, John could see, but made no mention of it.

"Mmm," was all John managed and Molly slid down to Sherlock's level and the two of them gave one another their wicked smiles as they kissed, then tongued John's erection, and kissed some more. Sherlock held and directed John's cock between his and Molly's lips as they kissed and nipped at one another. The pair licked and sucked up and down John's shaft, getting sloppier and slipperier as they progressed in their game of kissing around John's cock, and they finally dissolved into giggles. John chuckled, but also warned them.

"Um, giggling around an erect prick is usually not the best thing to keep said prick erect."

"Hmmhmm, duly noted, love," said Sherlock, who winked at Molly. He sucked his middle finger, and reached between John's legs, locating his smaller puckered opening.

"Oh Jesus Christ," John arched his back at the contact as Sherlock pressed his finger past the tight ring of muscle, into the heat of John's body. Sherlock smiled at the way John's reactions to Sherlock's fingers inside him still contained notes of alarm and discomfort in them. He found it adorable, and was finished with admonishing John for broadcasting his fear. It was clearly now no longer fear, but pleasure, and Sherlock was determined to enjoy it. Sherlock felt John constrict hard against his finger, then relax somewhat, as the doctor was getting more and more used to Sherlock using his fingers like this. He felt John grip his fist in Sherlock's hair more tightly as he gently brushed John's sweet spot once or twice, gently pulsing deeply into him.

"Oh, sweet mother of -."

Molly and Sherlock didn't speak any more as they continued to kiss and suck John's shaft and balls. John lay back, a hand in Sherlock's hair, and one in Molly's as the pair worked on him. John imagined the mess he must look, his face a grimace, his knees bent and splayed wide apart. At the thought, he tried to spread them even wider. Then he felt Sherlock increase his pulsing somewhat, and John noticed his friend was starting to brush his prostate more and more frequently. He moved his hips, swivelling them, rocking them in time with Sherlock and Molly's mouths, with Sherlock's stroking into him as that hot prickly feeling started to spread from his back to his neck and face to his whole body. He felt a slight sweat come on.

"Oh, fuck, Molly, shit, shit, Molly, love, Sherlock, Sherlock -." John's recital went on for a bit more, and then was over as he repeated his favorite word for such purposes, 'fuck, fuck, fuck' and then finished. John stiffened and gave over to a series of spasms, hitting Molly and Sherlock each in the face with a rope of come. They were prepared for him, but were being careless, as they continued to kiss around John's cock. They licked each other's faces and then giggled, and abandoned John quite brusquely as Sherlock did nothing short of jumping Molly. He entered her quickly, her head and shoulders, leaning over the side of the mattress, her arms flailing, and pounded into her for several strokes as she shouted and moaned her approval. But then he lifted her up to a sitting position, kissing her gently.

"Do you want to - kiss John while I – from behind? Or what would you like, hmm?"

"Oh, yes, let's not leave him high and dry."

"Well, he's not dry." Sherlock kissed Molly affectionately, and she turned toward John, straddling his waist, offering her arse to Sherlock. He positioned himself between her legs, between John's legs, and stroked Molly's lovely slim hips reverently, then gripped her by the waist, and entered her gently but firmly. John was just coming back to himself as this was going on, and he watched Molly's face as Sherlock pressed into her. He watched her mouth open, her brow furrow as Sherlock first took possession of her. Then he saw her relax into the penetration, allowing it, merely, then he watched as she began to participate, thrusting herself back against Sherlock's oncoming movements, with more and more abandon. John saw that she wasn't really paying attention to him in the usual way, as she did when they made love. And he could see that her reactions to Sherlock were much different. He'd seen it before of course, but never so closely, never as if it were part of his own love making. He reached a hand to her cheek to stroke her, and she immediately turned to him smiling, kissing him, but her smiles, her kisses suddenly seemed faked, unnatural, in such contrast to her more feral behaviour. He watched as the smiled faded and her concentration on Sherlock's more animalistic thrusting returned to her features. John stroked her face again, and she looked at him with an animal look, blank, wild, needy. He leaned up, and forced his mouth against hers, tonguing her biting her and she responded fiercely, kissing him wildly, answering Sherlock's thrusts more wildly as well. John reached down her body, and gripped her backside, hard, his nails digging in, and then he felt Sherlock's hands on his own, clenching them hard as Sherlock began to lose control at last. It was only a few more strokes and Sherlock pitched forward against Molly's back, moaning his release in short bursts, pressing her down onto John. He collapsed on top of them both, flattening them together. John tried to repress his giggles, and succeeded for the most part, until Sherlock slowly slid off the pair. There were several long moments of heavy breathing before Sherlock spoke.

"Is any one physically injured?"

The three laughed, and Molly slid off to the other side of John. Sherlock turned to John, kissing him, now with a wildness, and abandon that John didn't expect.

"Did you see her? Did you see how Molly is? More closely?"

John vaguely resented this line of questioning, as if he'd never seen Molly before, as if he didn't know what Molly felt, or what she needed – Wait – Is this it? Is this jealousy? This is jealousy. Getting angry at every little thing for nothing. Kiss him, you idiot.

"Yes, I saw her. She's dazzling, isn't she?" John panted against Sherlock's throat, then reached up, bringing his mouth back to his, driving his tongue against his friend's, exploring his teeth, his palate. He clawed at his back a little in his eagerness to bring him closer, to feel Sherlock's skin flush against his own. But they were all quite spent, and were soon only petting one another gently. Then Sherlock and John reached for Molly and pulled her between their bodies, pressing her with kisses, petting her sucking her.

"We should have taken the opportunity to talk about Donovan."

"Buzz kill."

"Never mind. We will in the morning. Go to sleep."

"Love you."

"Love you both."

"Love."

)))))

There you go

Might not be another one 'til Sunday -

Please let me hear from you! You know how it is - needy, woefully underpaid arts person desperate for stroking.