In which John and Molly have some quality time.

In which we get some details about John's and Molly's coming together.

Oblique treatment of how Molly tells John about Sherlock's faked jump.

Sherlock tries to safeguard against any feelings of rivalry between him and his friend.

Honeymoon's Over?

Wednesday at Bart's. Molly waited at the usual spot where Sherlock's cab would drop him off and from where the two of them would make their way to a bench in the park nearby For the last few Wednesdays in a row, the two had done this, sharing a light lunch, usually of sandwiches, which one or the other of them would provide. Molly was waiting and watched as a cab pulled up in the usual place, but was confused to see John step out of the cab. Confusion turned into alarm, but she saw his face – smiling and happy. He waved his hand, brightly, then quickly frenetically, as though to ward off any alarm she might still have at seeing him there, instead of Sherlock: he was aware his presence in Sherlock's place might frighten her for a moment. He leaned into the car when he was confident Molly wasn't scared any more, brought out an enormous bouquet of red roses, two dozen by the look of it, and closed the door. The cab pulled out into to traffic, leaving John standing, not 10 feet from Molly. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him.

"Sorry to worry you - ." John began.

"Yes – for just a moment – I did think - "

"He's fine, he's fine, at home, you know. Sorry. But I - I wanted to surprise you even so."

"You did – you did that. Oh, John, these are for me?" Molly tried not to be too coy, but two dozen roses were hard to be believed.

"No one else but my girl."

Molly smiled, remembering how John had called her 'my girl,' a couple of times rather tentatively when they'd been courting, and more confidently after they'd married. She hadn't been at all sure if she liked the sound of it – the ownership – the diminutive nature of it. But hearing him say it now, she felt herself fall in love with John all over again.

"Yes, I'm yours, always your girl, John."

"Oh, good." John smiled, but his presence and now, his demeanour were giving Molly clues.

"Oh, John, what is it?."

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." John looked into his wife's face and breathed deeply, as if to breath in the healing effect of her presence. Healer? He thought, thinking about what he was supposed to be, a doctor. I've got nothing on her. She's pulled me back from the dead. He remembered how it was, how he was, in the days just before she came to him with the news that Sherlock had faked the whole thing. He remembered holding the gun to his head. He remembered the taste of the cold metal when he'd put it in his mouth with the safety off. He remembered one afternoon getting into Bart's and climbing to the roof to stand where Sherlock had been standing, just before. He'd stood there, too. He'd thought. 'one small step out with each foot, that's all.' He'd stepped out with one foot. But he'd stepped back. And he'd managed one more time to get back to his smaller, darker, and in general more horrible new flat. Managed to eat something and managed not to shoot himself between one and three AM, when things were the worst. He was managing day to day in this manner until she came to his flat. Was it that night? The night I got back from going up to Bart's roof? She'd come to his flat, made him walk with her at night to a secluded space near the river, away from CCTV cameras, made him follow her into a rare copse of bushes, made him listen to her story. Made him let her hold his head as he retched, throwing up what little he'd eaten for dinner, then made him let her hold him as he wept. She'd made him follow her back to hers. Made him tea, which he scarcely touched. Made him take off his shoes, then his jacket and his jumper, and finally made him lie on the sofa and drift off to sleep, his head and shoulders in her lap and in her arms, her hands gently carding through is hair, while she murmured his name and little words of comfort, 'it's all right,' and 'he's all right,' and 'you're ok.' She made him stay the night. She made him breakfast in the morning.

John caressed Molly's face with his finger tips, the wonder of her still fresh as they sat on this simple park bench under trees.

"I was dead without you. It wouldn't have taken much more time at all, you know?"

"Shh," she hushed him, a mother's hush. He'd told her of the taste of the gun metal and the visit to the hospital's roof. She smiled her best happy smile, trying to soothe those still raw feelings from a time not so long ago. He reached for her lips with his, kissing her tenderly, smiling as he did it – she felt his smiling lips on hers and smiled back.

"Do you – remember us? At all? Before – you know, before he came back?" John asked her.

"Of course I do. We were – we were well on our way to being – a normal couple."

"Yeah, we were. Remember dinner Stamford and his wife?"

"Yes. We were – normal. Whenever things seem crazy, or I wonder – you know, how we got here, I think, 'I've got him, I've got my John.' I used to think that, you remember? I used to say that."

"Yes, I remember."

"I still think it. You're – you're not just a rock, you're – John, you're an entire foundation."

John smiled, pressing the flowers into Molly's arms as he took the carrier bags she held, which, he supposed contained their lunch.

"Yes, almost normal. Why do you ask? Regrets?" Molly asked

"No, Molly. What? About him? About him being with us? None. God no."

"Ok," Molly smiled, "Me neither."

"Ok. Where do you two, usually - ?" John pointed up an incline to a bit of grass with trees, and Molly nodded.

"Yes, just up here." The two of them made for a grouping of trees, and a little bench where Sherlock and she normally took lunch on Wednesdays. They sat down, still smiling idiotically at one another, very much a newlywed couple. Then Molly set down her flowers, and handed things out, sandwiches and bottled water.

"Cheese sandwiches?" She said with a shrug.

"Perfect." John took his sandwich and unwrapped it, wondering how to begin. Aloud, he thought, don't plot anything – let her hear you.

"Sherlock, actually suggested – ah - ."

"Oh, yes?" Molly had guessed that it was Sherlock who'd sent John to her today. She was surprised he hadn't come to her earlier, now that she thought of it. John finished a piece of his sandwhich, nodding, then continued.

"Yes, he – ah – that is – I – I had a moment, I should tell you - ."

"A moment?"

"Yes, love. When you two were having your – you know – relapse into your teens –."

"Yes, we were quite – ridiculous." Molly cringed, but secretly smiled at Sherlock's and her recent attempt to break her personal orgasm record for a 24 hour period in only seven hours.

"Not at all – it was – fun – to think about, during the day – But later, when I was picking up milk, before I got home that night, I thought – 'perhaps she'll prefer him – if he –' ."

"No, John. I can't choose. Between you."

"You know, it was a moment, like we all have. That's all. Naturally, he can guess – that is, deduce - things –you want, what you need."

"So can you. I couldn't choose."

"Mmm."

"John. Darling. I could never choose between you."

"I just – you know – I just wanted to – I want it to be in the open – between us. Among us all. I've already mentioned it to him. And then, today – he suggested -." John waved his hand, evoking the phrase 'and here we are.' He watched Molly's reaction to that bit of information, that Sherlock suggested John come in his stead.

"Um. The flowers were my idea," John quickly put in, smiling.

Molly shook her head, denying she'd thought anything else were the case and referred to the stems and the plastic that wrapped them with her fingers.

"Of course they were, my sweet love."

Molly recalled how attentive John had been when they'd first started dating and then sleeping together. The flowers, the calls, the texts, the cards. She'd never had such attention before. At first it was a little overwhelming, and if she were to tell the truth, it was a bit off-putting. Particularly as it seemed to her that it all might be a kind of 'thank you,' for her telling him about Sherlock being alive. She'd decided to have a talk with him and explained that it was just a bit much for her. She even questioned him, asking, 'Is it all to say 'thank you,' for – you know? Telling you?' She remembered his expression, full of pain and shock.

"No, Molly. It isn't to say 'thank you,' for – that. But thank you, by the way. I do appreciate it, in case it needed mentioning."

She'd felt a little ashamed to have embarrassed him in this way, but once he'd recovered, he was quite charming about it. He'd shrugged his shoulders and apologized, confessing that he'd felt a little different about her than other women he'd seen in the past couple years.

"It seems to me that we – share something, Molly. More than knowing him, more than losing him. Something else, too? Do you – know what I mean?"

Molly had smiled and said she wasn't sure. She lied, because she was fairly positive what it was they shared, but didn't want to frighten John off.

Molly knew that at least fifty percent of the men of her acquaintance would have called it off with her completely at that stage, but not John. They'd continued to see each other, and she was very impressed with his tenacity, without seeming to be at all desperate. Just certain. She thought she was able to see what Sherlock must have seen in John right away. Complete, unquestioning, quietly certain loyalty.

More importantly, they'd continued to mourn Sherlock's absence together, sometimes in silence, and sometimes they were able to talk about him as well. It was a relief for both of them to have someone to talk to about Sherlock. No one else was even remotely close to having the bond that they each shared with him. So, they were able to talk about him, but it wasn't always very easy. It was never casual conversation.

"Were you - in love with him?" John had asked at one point, a few weeks into their relationship.

"I – I think it was a crush, wasn't it? Those first years, just a crush? But later, later, when he - yes, I – I can't deny it – I did - I fell in love."

"Yes?" John seemed unconcerned with Molly's admission, accepting of it, not at all jealous as he held Molly's hand. He'd looked at her, but then seemed far away, staring off, as if into some great mountainous expanse, as though he might spot Sherlock on some distant horizon, though Molly's bookcase was all that was before him. They'd been at her flat having tea, curled up on her sofa. He'd been holding her hands. At that moment she'd felt his fingers, his whole body, in fact, poised to say something to her, but he was hesitating, hesitating, until finally, she couldn't stand it any longer.

"What is it?" she'd asked, gently pulling his hands toward her, trying to bring him back to her from that great distance he was staring into.

"I – I think I did, too. I – I fell in love." John dipped his head, but clearly said, "With him. In a way I - I can't at all explain."

"Yes. Yes, of course." She hadn't questioned it, John remembered. Hadn't voiced any logistical queries. She had just let it be, and John allowed himself to be soothed by her acceptance of his statement, her lack of prejudgment. But he remembered her eyes on him, she hadn't let the topic slip away, she continued further, deeper.

"And you still love him." She'd said.

"Yes," he'd whispered, lowering his eyes, wondering where the fuck the fucking git was at that very moment, and then thinking how very dearly he would like to punch him the mouth. Then he'd looked in Molly's face, and saw it. "Oh. And so are you." he'd said.

"Yes," she'd whispered back with some fierceness but no hesitation. Their eyes had remained locked for what seemed like an age, and then their lips, their bodies crushed forward into one another seemingly at precisely the same moment. They grappled for one another's mouths and skin in a way they hadn't up to this moment, though they had made love a number of times already in their early days together. That night their lovemaking had taken on a new desperation, and somehow a sharper and more specific purpose.

"You still love him even though he's fucked you over." Molly whispered desperately in his ear as they sank from the sofa to the floor, her hands frantic at his belt.

"Yes," John hissed back to her, ripping her blouse open, "And so are you, even though he's pretty much fucked you over, too."

"Yes, John, oh, love."

Half in and half out of their clothes, John entered her rather roughly, but she only pulled him against her harder and deeper, arching into his touch, his movements.

"And you'd take him back, wouldn't you, if he came back? If he came back now?" Molly asked.

"Take him - ? What – Yes, yes, I'd be his friend, oh, god Molly - ." John stopped his thrusting for a moment, and looked into Molly's eyes, wild with excitement, wild with her secret. "And you – you'd take him back? If he came back now?"

Molly smiled, thursting her hips against John.

"Only if you come with me." Her face was an expression of obscene lust, and John wasn't sure what to do with her then, other than to shag her silly, which of course he did. Later, when they'd gotten up from the floor, and gone to Molly's bed, he wondered to himself what on earth she'd meant. Only if you come with me?

Their bond had deepened that night but their problem with crying in bed at Sherlock's absence had arisen. At first neither of them recognized that they were having the same problem. Each thought the other was having some sort of release of emotion that was perfectly appropriate to their being together. After a time, however, they were able to see that there was some problem between them, though they didn't know quite what. But they were pretty sure it had to do with Sherlock's absence.

John looked at Molly's expectant expression as they sat in the park, and tried to soothe her fears with his smile. But they both knew some work would have to be done on their relationship now.

"He said something else – ah – a little curious, Sherlock did."

"What love?"

Molly knitted her brow – What had Sherlock told, she wondered?

"Well, he said he – ah – worried sometimes that you're a little isolated from us. You – work full time. He's right – he and I see one another much more regularly. And you and I are – with my part time hours, and the odd shifts you cover sometimes. Sometimes –

"Yes, yes, John, love, you're right – I –I could - ."

"It's not your fault, for heaven's sake, love, I'm not saying - ."

"I could, maybe I could - ," Molly was desperate to find a solution to the problem, now, and simply, rather than go any deeper. Rather than delve into a topic that Sherlock may have brought up with John.

"Molly, wait – I want, I want to know you better, too. I mean, if anyone is to know you better or best, it's got to be me, hasn't it?"

"Ok."

"He said – Sherlock said – to wait. To wait for you to – want to tell me – things."

Molly looked away. So Sherlock had intimated in however limited a fashion at her past experiences, which she'd been keeping a secret. Or had he revealed some of the details surrounding John's and her marriage?

"Molly, love, are there – are there secrets? He – Sherlock says he doesn't know any details, but I – I don't know – I don't call him a liar, but perhaps he's – deduced some things he'd prefer for you to tell me yourself?"

Molly paused only a moment.

"That's an accurate assessment, John."

John blinked at Molly's tone. If he hadn't been looking at her mouth moving while she spoke, he could have sworn it had been Sherlock who'd said it.

"Oh, so there are – there are some – secrets? Ahaha." John was crestfallen.

"We'll all talk, John, soon, I promise."

"No, no, that's ok. When – when you're ready – to tell me – us." John paused a moment, then continued. "He said it might be hard – for you to talk about?"

Molly averted her eyes again. No for some reason it was too hard for her to tell her secrets to this man. Why? He's so loving, so accepting. So grounding. Sherlock is, too. Why can't I tell John? No, don't keep him in the dark, talk to him, talk to him now, if you can.

"I – I don't want - ." Molly tried to begin.

"Yes, love?" John's steel blue eyes were big and round, expectant. Molly continued. "I don't want to disappoint you." Molly blurted out.

John smiled, taking one of her hands in his.

"Molly," his smile together with his furrowed brow said all that he needed to say, but he tried to reassure her. "You can never disappoint me, love. You literally saved my life." Love of my life.

"And I don't want to hurt you." Molly finished, and she steeled herself against the pain she knew she would see in his face, knew would be reflected back to her and cause her pain, too, twice the pain, knowing that she had been the cause.

John froze. What's this? He thought. She prefers him. She's leaving. No, she's just denied it, no reason to disbelieve her. Oh. Something in the past?

"Love, how can I - ? If there's something that you feel you've done – in the past?" John looked at her and found confirmation in her averted gaze.

"Ah. In the past then? Molly, sweetheart, I promise you, unless you pack your bags, you won't hurt me. I want to know – I mean I want to help you with it – whatever you're going through, I'm ready to share it, if it's painful, I – I've no doubt that it must be – oh."

Molly gauged John's look and suspected he'd guessed part of things she was keeping, but he immediately masked his pain.

"Oh, love." John wrung her hand in his. "Whatever you need – however long you need – to take. But, won't it be much better, once we all get through it? Together?"

Molly saw that John was right. Yes, the sooner the better. Get through this and get on with it. Yes. Sooner rather than later.

John smiled through his pain, though he thought Molly's reactions had confirmed his suspicions that she may have been physically and sexually attacked in the past. How could I not see? How did I miss it? Jesus Christ. It couldn't have happened while we were together, could it? Who? When? Later, later, wait for her, I must wait.

"I think – you know, among the three of us, we'll be able to sort through it, yeah?"

Molly looked at the pain in John's eyes, even as he tried to reassure her. Well, now I've hurt him. Now he's in pain because of me. She wondered if she were worth it.

"Yes," John said simply.

"What?" Molly asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"Yes, you're worth it. Darling." John only smiled, pressing his hand on top of hers as it rested on her knee.

"Oh, love. Can you read my mind? John, John." Molly bit her lip.

"No, I don't read minds, I just know you. Don't ever doubt it, that you're worth it, hmm? Never," John took her in his arms before the first tear fell and Molly let him hold her while she sobbed. In all the times she'd met Sherlock on this bench she hadn't cried, nor had she felt so completely held up. He grounds the two of us, she thought of John. We need him, the same as John and I need Sherlock. But – do they need me? She frowned and considered the question for a moment with some alarm, but pushed the thought aside for future reference, determined to stay on task today. At length John located some paper napkins and Molly mopped up her face with them.

"Well," John said, drawing away from her at last, "That's a start, hmm? He – he was right. Obviously. Ahaha."

"Ahaha," said Molly.

John gathered up the papers from their lunch for the bin, and Molly picked up her flowers, burying her face in them. She looked at her husband.

"I'm going to Camden, now," John smiled and winked.

"Ah that little errand in Hatton Garden?"

"Yes. Green, white and blue."

"It's not white, exactly, it's opalescent, kind of a milky rainbow. Moonstone."

"Yes. Moonstone for Molly. Jade for me."

"And sapphire."

The married couple kissed one another with smiles on their lips as they thought of their little secret.

"You have that extra shift tonight, don't you?" John asked, as he rose from the bench.

"Mmm, that's right," Molly remembered she'd taken on part of a shift that evening for a friend. Luckily, it was only the first bit of the evening shift, not the later bit.

"Must you?"

"I promised," Molly said.

"Well, if you promised . . . But take a cab home, will you? Not the tube? I don't like the walk from the tube to the door at night for you." John smiled and kissed his wife.

"You," she began simply.

"Love, don't - you don't have to - ."

"You are the salt of the earth, John Watson. You – put it all in order for me, don't you? And then you make it all bearable. You do that for me, John."

"Just watching out for my girl."

"Oh, John," she said, threatening tears again through her smile, "You're irresistible."

Back in Bart's, after a couple hours and after about a dozen co-workers buzzed past her desk and cooed over her outrageous bouquet of roses, Molly found a moment to text Sherlock and was pleased to find that he was near his phone, and answering his texts promptly.

-Why you little grass - M

-Had to. Forgive me?- SH

-Of course. You were right to tell him.

-Obviously. Everything ok?

-Yeah. We're fine.. – more anon- What about our gf?

-Nothing new. Any signs?

-Nothing new– luv.

-Ok Luv.

Sherlock, John and Molly were all being vigilant and proactive with respect to Donovan's prying and insinuating remarks. For texts, they determined the term 'gf' for 'girlfriend,' was both amusing and suitably ironic.

Mycroft had assured Sherlock that they'd had no cameras on the flat, so the three were relatively certain they had come from Sally. How to find out? John brought the cameras to Greg, and without needing to reveal a thing about Molly, Sherlock and John's relationship, Greg agreed to track them down unofficially, quietly without bringing anyone else in on it. Meanwhile, the three were in contact as to the whereabouts of Donovan and Anderson, reporting to one another whenever they spotted one or another or both of them, and what if anything they'd say.

Nothing new had cropped up in recent days, however, and the three were flummoxed as to what to do about it all.

For the time being, Molly and John continued to return to their small flat down the road in the evenings, and Sherlock would join them by the back way. But in the afternoons, John joined Sherlock at 221B at about 5 o'clock, to reconnoitre on cases. The notion was to show that the two held office hours together, and then, John would be seen to leave Sherlock's between 7:30 and 8:30, and return to his flat by way of the street. Sherlock found it all absurd and was determined that all this nonsense would end soon, however delightful it had become for him. Yes, he had to admit that it was thrilling to surge out of his bathroom window and climb the fire escape to the roof. To get to Molly and John he had to walk over the roofs of three buildings, make a rather dangerous three-foot jump over an alley, and then clamour down John and Molly's building on a very rickety, wirey set of steps to drop into their bedroom window. Sometimes he had come upon one or both of them half naked. Once he had been quite late, and his lovely people were already in bed and making love. Oh, god. Completely delightful. And Molly loves it when I suddenly appear. Does John?. No, no, this cloak and dagger stuff must end. Why? Because it's my life, not a case. Because I will do as I please. Because no one holds me - or them - captive.

When Sherlock sent his last text off to Molly, he smiled, shaking his head to himself. Oh, she's a handful, he thought as he walked through Regent's park at a brisk pace. Yes, both of them, each a bit of a handful. Lucky I have two hands. And I? What am I like for them, I wonder? Ahaha!

Spring was quickly changing into summer and Sherlock was able to appreciate the park's blossoms for their exuberant display without having to review their common names, followed by the Latin, as he usually did when presented with the opportunity to do so, a discipline he'd maintained since childhood. He also enjoyed the air today. Though still London's usual fare, the smell petrol wasn't as pervasive here, though he had to admit, he liked the bite of diesel in the air. But here, in the park once in a while he'd get a lungful of roses or lilacs. What a beautiful day! Ahaha!

Sherlock was gratified by Molly's phone call. He knew she partly expected him to tell John that she had something to tell him – and he hadn't expected her to be too cross with him for too long. Under different circumstances, Sherlock would have let her secret-keeping pass for a much longer time, but John's admission to feeling a bit of rivalry, concerned Sherlock very much. He was determined to keep the lines of communication among the three of them not only open but honest. He hoped John wouldn't be vexed with him for staying quiet as long as he had. He knew they'd have plenty of time to talk about it tonight.

Sherlock's reason for being in the park today was purely for the exercise. He despised exercise for its own sake, but appreciated its necessity. While John and he were taking on more and more cases lately, they were quite simple so far, without much leg work. Though Sherlock was sure it didn't show much, he could feel his legs and belly going a bit soft. And it's all from this extended period of complete self indulgence. Though it has been a thorough delight. He resolved to walk briskly through the park, running intermittently whenever he had the chance. He'd grab a low tree branch or bar of some scaffolding when the opportunity presented itself, and pulled himself up on it for as long as he could without becoming too conspicuous. He'd scale fences and gates whenever he thought he could get away with it and not scandalize the normal London citizenry. He was almost done with his circuit of the park and was coming upon the last leg of his walk. He would soon be home where John would probably be waiting for him.

John.

Sherlock remembered that tonight was a late shift for Molly. He'd be alone with John for a good part of the evening – plenty of time for the two of them to chat about how the doctor's lunch had gone with Molly, and for them to iron out any problems they might have between them concerning the possibility that John thought Sherlock was harbouring secrets. So childish – but I really can't bear it when he's cross with me. Sherlock's feeling approached terror when he thought of any future misunderstandings that might arise between the three of them. He didn't want the couple to send him away. Or break up, and make him choose between them. He'd never be able to.

Sherlock cast his mind to the flat and the kitchen and how bad things had gotten recently. He'd gotten back up to speed with his usual experiments and both the flat and the kitchen were approaching critical mass in terms of disgusting. Sherlock wondered if there were room for his people to have breakfast, as he knew they did, while he sleep in, as he often did. Well they would have to make some room, if they wanted a chair, or a bit of the kitchen table. Yes, the honeymoon seemed to be over indeed. Well. We'll see about that. Ahaha!

They had all had a good laugh when Molly had farted in bed recently not bothering to hide the noise. It was surprisingly loud and both men had looked at one another in alarm, and then at Molly who was half hiding under the sheet, holding her hands over her mouth, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Molly?" John asked, then laughed when he saw her expression.

"Uh-oh!" Molly had said, evoking the Telly Tubbies, which made John laugh harder, and Molly joined him. They looked at Sherlock who was still sitting up with a book, a look of horror on his face.

"Good lord, Molly. Did you – did you – fart?" He'd said.

Molly had dissolved into giggles which set John into new paroxysms of laughter. To hear Sherlock Holmes use vernacular in general, and this word in particular was particularly hilarious for the couple. Sherlock sat in bed regarding his friends with shock as they laughed. The longer he held his expression, the harder the pair laughed and Sherlock finally relented and broke into a grudging smile, shaking his head, and at last was able to chuckle along with his friends.

"All right. It's funny. Can you two get a hold of yourselves, now?"

"Honeymoon's over!" Molly had crooned, still laughing, and John started giggling again.

"All right, all right, hilarious. Can we please?" Sherlock gestured to his book, but the two just kept laughing. When Molly finally stopped, John would start again and when John stopped, Molly would start a new. Sherlock finally gave up trying to concentrate on his book, and scooped Molly into his arms, biting her shoulder and neck.

"Honeymoon's over, Molly? No more cunnilingus?" Sherlock chuckled in her ear, kissing her. Then he leaned over to John, who was still laughing, and still holding on to Molly, Sherlock kissed him, and raked his teeth across his chest.

"Honeymoon's over, John?" Sherlock had asked.

John had grazed his partner's face with his hand, then touched his lips with his finger tips, then brushed his mouth to Sherlock's face, whispering in his ear,

"No, love, not yet." John had said and bitten Sherlock's ear, and reached for a wrist restraint. John had smiled into his friend's face, and slowly, tenderly buckled the leather into place on Sherlock's wrist. Molly saw John's plan, and reached for another restraint on her side of the bed, and the two of them had Sherlock spread eagled and secured on the bed in a matter of moments, their hands and mouths all over him.

What a lovely evening that was. Sherlock thought to himself as he was finishing up his walk in the park. But perhaps the sickeningly named honeymoon is over, in fact? He realized he would wait until the end of the world for John and never complain again. If he had to wait forever, but could still remain in John's and Molly's company, he'd be content, he knew now. If John ever decided to give himself to Sherlock it would be an impossibly sweet moment that would complete the circle, the circuit of the three of them. It would be far in excess of Sherlock's current expectations for the triad relationship.

Sherlock breathed deeply and looked at the sky above Baker street as he thought of how he'd been so pushy with John about their physical life only weeks into the relationship. How could I have been so pigheaded? Well – evolution perhaps – And god, look at John. He'd had no expectation of a homosexual relationship with his best friend at first – No, I'm sure of it. And even lovely Molly is now forced to unkeep her secrets. Naughty lovely Molly, but really, why keep secrets from John? Oh, of course, fear of judgment. Ridiculous. John had opinions, of course, but he reserved his judgment when it was important to do so. Lovely John. Oh, John when will you let me – ? I'll wait. Well worth it.

Half a mile left to 221B. Sherlock decided to sprint it and took the stairs two at a time when he was in the building. When he got to the top, huffing and puffing, there was John, at the desk, working on his laptop. Sherlock breathed in the familiar scent of the flat, beaming at John's familiar presence in the room, and except for Molly's absence, felt himself to be well and truly home.

John turned from his work toward the door, his face all welcome and gladness to have his friend home. Sherlock breathed a sign of relief. Perhaps the talk with Molly wasn't so harrowing for him, after all.

"Hey."

"Hey. How did lunch go? She texted me."

"Yes, of course – I – I – You were right. Secrets. Obviously."

"Well, yes. I hope, John, I hope you didn't think – that I - ."

John waved him off.

"Tell me if I'm wrong," John smiled, approaching his friend where he stood, crossed his arms across his chest and pursed his lips. "You intuited some things she was keeping to herself, and gently brought them up with her and suggested she tell me. She wouldn't, so you kept her secret. Then I mentioned this funny moment I had - worrying that she would prefer you in bed, and it worried you. You didn't want to – to keep anything from me, and you - told me. Close?"

Sherlock blinked in the blinding light of John's perfect analysis. Is that it? No talk? We don't have to talk? He's sorted it all out for us perfectly already. How delightful.

"Excellent, Watson. Quite accurate."

"Well, thank you, Holmes, thank you very much."

"Very impressive."

"Hmm. Probably not that impressive. But you are, love. You're – you're a good friend, Sherlock, a very good friend. Thanks."

Sherlock reddened and looked away, but smiled and returned his gaze to the doctor.

"I hope – I hope I am, I mean – you, you're - ."

John stepped in front of his partner and smiled as he watched his friend grope for words, a rare occurrence in a day of the life of Sherlock Holmes. He stepped closer, and reached to Sherlock's arm, stroking him, then John put his arm gently around his friend's waist, drawing him closer. Sherlock could see John was experimenting, holding, touching him, as they stood close together. Trying to get himself used to it, Sherlock thought, he works so hard, so hard at us. Perfectly delightful. Sherlock put his arms lightly around John's shoulders, allowing John to direct the embrace, hoping he would initiate more intimate contact, and it wasn't long before he did. John reached to Sherlock's throat tenderly tracing the lines of definition there, the jaw lines, the hollow of the throat. Sherlock was relaxed in his friend's arms when John quite surprised him leaning in and gently tonguing the hollow of Sherlock's throat. He did it once, then two times, leaving a quiet kiss after the second lick. Sherlock opened his eyes in time to see the doctor smile into his face, then step back from him, slowly descending to sit in his chair. John left his legs uncrossed, and his arms were relaxed on the arms of the chair.

"Do you - want to?" John asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Mmm, yes of course," Sherlock answered, licking his lips. Do I need more of an invitation? Sherlock wondered, as he took a tentative step toward John and Nana's chair.

"Oh," said, John, before Sherlock could take another step. "Can you do me a favour, first?"

"Oh, wh- what?" Sherlock asked.

"Take off your clothes."

)))))

Oh, I have the rest of it all written! All for you! Needs editing.

But I don't want to do any more monster chapters, and this one was going on a bit.

Plenty of Sherlolly in the offing, too.

Stay tuned my little darlings, more on Thursday! That's right, I said Thursday!

Thanks to all you favers and followers! You are my inspiration!

And to you lovely reviewers, you have my undying love and kisses!

The end is near, my little darlings, my little cabbages!

Ahaha!