Hey, there, my little dumplings. I adore you.

I hope you like it.

Previously in John's Interludes for Three

Sherlock could read between the lines of Molly and John's conversation and easily understood that there had been some secret errand. What on earth have they gotten up to? He thought. They mean to surprise me with something – and on Molly's birthday. Very clever. Don't they know with whom they are dealing? He smiled to himself.

"Yes," John said, leaning across Molly to speak to Sherlock. "We know you're deducing away, but you don't know do you? Ahaha?"

"No. But I will. Soon enough. I imagine. No?"

"Yes, love," Molly hushed, petting his chest. "Don't try too hard to guess, though. It will spoil your surprise."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. Don't try too hard? To guess? Who did she think she was talking to? But he realized in the same moment that he didn't want to spoil his surprise. His mind floated backward in time. Christmases and birthdays long, long past. He'd always deduced, he'd always either guessed or discovered through snooping what gifts he would receive. It was almost as though it had become his job. But this was different. She's 's delicious not knowing. I'll try. I'll try – not to try – too hard.

"Yes, love, don't try too hard, hmm?" John reached across Molly and combed his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"We love you Sherlock." Molly yawned toward the end of her words.

"Yes, love, we love you."

Oh! Sherlock thought. No, no, that's – -well – it would be so twee.

))))))))

Did I Surprise You?

Mycroft is being nicer

A run

A bath

Johnlock

Sherlolly

Molljohn/Hoopson?/Johnolly? (Good lord!)

Jollock

Mycroft had insisted on meeting with Sherlock over some dry as dust family business matters the week before Molly's birthday holiday, and Sherlock had consented, so here they were, in Mycroft's offices. In July. No air. Stifling hot. Sherlock did it to keep Mycroft happy, or at least at bay. He still had to endure the jibes and jokes at his expense over his continued 'dalliance' with his 'little middle class married couple.' He was advised to get over this 'debauched phase' of his life and turn his attentions to more 'serious matters.' But Sherlock noticed that Mycroft's sniping comments lacked the vitriol of similar comments made at similar meetings. Perhaps he's getting used to the idea, Sherlock thought, after all, I'm not the bloody Prince of Wales. Who really cares what I, or Mycroft or John and Molly get up too? For his part, Sherlock enraged and frustrated his brother by reminding him at least four or five times that the questions he was asking Sherlock referred to matters that were none of Mycroft's business. At length the two stood almost nose to nose in Mycroft's office, close to coming to blows, when Sherlock smiled and stepped away from his brother, shrugging off the tension that had been building in him.

"I'm happy, Mycroft. They make me happy." Sherlock fairly blurted out, gesturing with his arms. "Can't you see it?" He asked, whirling toward him, taking careful note of his brother's expression. Yes, he saw in his face, Mycroft knew he was happy. But what made him continue to tease? To diminish? Aha. There it is.

"Jealousy?" Sherlock spat out. "I wouldn't have believed it unless I'd seen it for myself."

Mycroft had turned his head quickly and turned back to his brother, his mask restored.

"Careful what you think you observe, brother, dear. Sometimes we see what we only wish were there." Mycroft smirked.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, recognizing one of his brother's usual tacks.

"All right, Mycroft, if you like. Have it your way. Not jealous? Wonderful. It is no matter to you that no one thinks, and I dare say, worries about you all day. More convenient that way, I'll have to agree. No one considers you or your thoughts on either small or large matters. No one asks for your personal advice. No one prepares tea with your preferences in mind and executes it perfectly, (well, by and by) and has it on the table when you get home. Phones you on a daily basis just to see how you are. Touches you."

"Hmmhmm. There's no need at all to concern yourself with my personal - ."

"Loves you." Sherlock added quietly.

There was an awkward silence in the room and Sherlock was suddenly dismayed as he looked at his brother standing with his mouth agape. He'd rendered Mycroft speechless for the barest moment, but he had done it all the same.

"I think that's quite enough." Mycroft smiled, his chin held high, his look utterly unassailable to the untrained eye, but Sherlock stood down. He had his warranted animosities toward Mycroft, but they amounted to nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. No, indeed, they amounted to nothing at all, were completely risible when he considered what he had with Molly and John.

"Forgive me, Mycroft. I - I go too far." The younger Holmes sat in the chair he had been occupying during the brothers' meeting. He looked at his hands, waiting for Mycroft to continue their conference, or to offer another insult to do with Sherlock's relationship with the Watsons. But none came. Sherlock regarded his brother, moving a piece of paper on his desk, arranging some pens that were in some commemorative pewter cup. Hadn't he ever - ? Sherlock banished the thought of Mycroft's personal relationships, but a bitter taste remained in his mouth at the thought. His own relationship with Molly and John was still completely new, less than six months old, how dare he be so smug? With anyone? Even with pathetic Mycroft? Who knew what the future held?

"I beg your pardon," Sherlock concluded his apology and tried to help things along. "Were there some items for me to sign?"

'I go too far?' and 'I beg your pardon?' What alien entity has taken over my brother's body and voice? Mycroft wondered, stunned at his younger sibling's behavior. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the good solid bourgeois attitudes of these two little people of his are having some kind of positive effect on the boy? I mean, on the young man. Oh, fully grown man, then! Mycroft admitted to himself that he mustn't keep referring to Sherlock, even to himself, as 'boy' or even 'young man,' it was ridiculous. He was a fully grown man, pushing 40, now. When on earth had that happened? The years had simply flown by, hadn't they? Mycroft regarded his brother, behaving nicely, sitting quietly, not tapping his fingers, or his feet, his elegant legs crossed, his hands in his lap. No, he's not at all 'the lad' or 'the boy,' anymore, is he? Perhaps I've been too – Hmm. Mycroft pursed his lips, but continued the meeting.

"Yes, some – here, is the deed to the – as we discussed, I've already signed it. Your signature is also required here, and here, and on this one, too." Sherlock stood and stepped up to the desk and duly signed the papers he was handed, replacing the pen on the table.

"Well. If that's all?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Mycroft said, and Sherlock turned to go. "Sherlock," his brother called him back.

"Yes?" Sherlock turned.

"You do – seem quite - quite well."

Sherlock produced a wry smile, but nodded amiably at his brother.

"I am, yes."

"I – I am glad." Mycroft stepped over to Sherlock. "I hope you can - dismiss this afternoon's earlier – erm – disagreements as our usual sibiling –– disagreements - ?" Sherlock wasn't sure what to make of this, then Mycroft held out his hand.

"Will you give my regards – to Dr. and Mrs. Watson? I offer them sincerely, Sherlock."

A hand shake? Now? After all these years?

Sherlock looked at his brother's hand, but couldn't help cocking his head or narrowing his eyes.

"That was a rather speedy turn around."

"Yes," said Mycroft, "Yes it was, I - Nevertheless . . ." He gestured again with his hand, opening it gently, turning the palm up.

"However," Sherlock began slowly, drawing out his vowels, "I – I believe you do – offer them sincerely. I – will be pleased to - forward your regards. And I - appreciate the gesture – very much." Sherlock slowly reached toward Mycroft, and for the first time in at least 15 years, the two brothers shook hands.

)))))

Sherlock left the building containing Mycroft's offices with a lighter head and sunnier attitude than he had had in years. But the situation in the city streets was another matter. He couldn't seem to hail a cab and for a moment he considered the tube, but remembered his last time on the underground and put the notion out of his head. Agh, he thought, I'll just make a start, maybe catch a cab farther along. And he launched himself on a run for home, heading for 221B Baker Street It was at least a 30 minute cab ride, but he never intended to run the whole way.

Today was to be the first time that he and Molly and John would meet back at his apartment after the three agreed not to be held hostage by innuendo, sneering and cameras. They agreed they should continue to be vigilant and careful but if they were found out, by Donovan or anyone and somehow publicly exposed, they would have to deal with it in as forthright a manner as possible. There was no sense in pretending to be something they weren't, they all agreed, even John.

Sherlock had scoured the apartment with a vengeance for any bugs or cameras, finding nothing. Then, he put his homeless network to work in watching the building, and apparently there had been some activity, some police vehicles here and there, unrecognized visitors to the building in unmarked vans, the like. The activity had died down, however, particularly with Sherlock's street contacts on the job, and the three were wary, but somewhat relieved. Sherlock and Mycroft had touched on the subject as well, just before Sherlock left his brother's office.

"I'm sure with both of us working on – the case, we'll come up with a solution soon enough. Probably benign enough, some mean-minded little sergeant and her lover wish to get there own back after your reappearance. Just as you suspect. I'll see to it it's resolved."

"Please don't have anyone killed, though, Mycroft."

"No, of course not. Only in the figurative sense, hmm?"

"Or sacked. If this intrusive nonsense can be stopped, I'd prefer – to rise above it."

Sherlock knew Mycroft didn't mean to have anyone actually killed, it was a little expression the two of them had used when they were still boys. Sherlock smiled at what might very well be his brother's attempt at rekindling an intimacy between them.

"Oh, I see. You're right, of course. Well, just as you say then. No one will be – repurposed, then? I'll keep you apprised, naturally." Mycroft's smile was accompanied by a glance at the clock on the desk, and Sherlock took his cue.

"Well." Sherlock turned to the door.

"Sorry," Mycroft said, "There's a meeting I simply must - ."

"Not at all, not at all. Th – thank you, Mycroft." Sherlock had turned and left the office.

Sherlock continued his sharp pace, running down the city blocks closer with each stride to Molly and John. He knew they were already at home, waiting for him. He would text them as soon as he had a definite ETA, but for now, he enjoyed his bit of a run, taking the shortest avenue possible, scaling the odd fence, the odd gate when he could. It was a wonderful tension reliever, but it also heightened his anticipation at meeting his people this afternoon, made their meeting more urgent, more - more – well – impossible, but somehow even more exciting than it was. Also, literally running away from Mycroft toward Molly and John was about as freeing and beautiful an experience as Sherlock had ever had.

Hmm, about a 15 minute cab ride from here, he thought as he continued his rather brisk running pace. Proper footwear for this kind of running would really – goddamnit keep your pets on a shorter leash, why can't you? Sherlock narrowly dodged a pensioner's Pomeranian. He slowed his pace briefly, recovering from his close miss and considered a cab again, but couldn't give up this adrenaline rush, this endorphin surge – it was too good.

And what on earth do they have in store for me on this little holiday of theirs? He wondered again, but tried to suppress his usual mental processes of investigation, of deduction in order not to try too hard, in order not to spoil his own surprise, as Molly had put it. He smiled at the childishness of it, the deliciousness. Like Christmas, like childhood birthdays.It was all too good, too good to be true. Oh, for god's sake, I have to find a present for her. What, what, what? There were still a few days before the three were to leave for their holiday. Enough time was left. But what, what, what? Confer with John. Molly will say all she wants is her little outing. And to go to that particular beach. For us to be with her. To fly the kite. A visit to the nearby ruins of castle. Sherlock pursed his lips, squinted at the notion. Women liked jewellery, he knew. Not my Molly. She'll say she loves whatever I or John give her, of course, but – pah – no. It must be unique. Essential. Confer with John. No, no, erm, ask John's advice.

The detective continued his brisk pace. He noticed the traffic was quite thick now, at a quarter to four in the afternoon, and for the moment he was easily outrunning it. When he noticed this he grinned. Then he giggled, and finally, he opened his mouth and laughed, running all the while, people around him gawking at what most certainly must be some kind of lunatic.

He was only about a quarter of a mile from the flat, when he slipped on some rubbish, bashed into the pole of a street sign and went careening into a rather deep and filthy puddle of what must have been some kind of sewage. He tried to keep his footing but fell into the muddy water, fouling his trousers and suit jacket. Have I had a stroke or something? Why do I keep tripping like this? No, no, no, it's not my fault, that pile of stuff was wet and unstable, I shouldn't have tried to run through it. I – oh, for god's sake, they'll be cross with me for hurting myself again. He wondered if his shoes were salvageable.

He limped the remaining distance home, grinning like a madman. He found that he'd twisted an ankle, but could see that it was nothing very serious. Home at last and up the stairs, he was exhausted but exhilarated, and deeply thankful for the sight of Molly and John setting out a tea tray. He saw that they had his favourite biscuits, just as he'd described to Mycroft earlier, and he smiled as his breath heaved in and out very audibly. He bit his lower lip, hoping the pain there would keep him from making some kind of fool of himself in front of his friends. John stepped up to him, knitting his brow despite his smile.

"What the fuck have you done to yourself, now?" asked John. He could see that Sherlock's shirt was splattered with something dark, his hair was impossible, and at closer inspection, his suit was completely filthy with most probably the same dark fluid that had soiled his shirt.

"Oh, my god, again?" Molly smiled, going to Sherlock's side, taking his hands and inspecting them. "You were running. Oh, love, you must wash your hands."

"No, no. Take a bath," John said, and gently laid his hand on Sherlock's jacket, offering to slip it off.

"I can -." Sherlock made to take off his own jacket.

"Come on, don't be shy," John said, "Let us. You can, you know, let go."

"I'll run the bath," Molly said, stepping away toward the bathroom, leaving John and Sherlock alone for the moment.

"You'll let me, hmm?" John asked, gently slipping the jacket off Sherlock's shoulders. The doctor lowered the jacket down from Sherlock's arms, and folded it onto the back of a chair, then returned to Sherlock, standing before him, smiling into his face. Lovely John. What wouldn't I do for you? Make me wait forever, love, only let me stay with you both, and I'll still die happy. Sherlock would have touched John, would have loved to kiss him, but he didn't want to contaminate him with his filthy hands, or even his face or hair, which almost certainly had some traces of sewage in it.

"I, hmmhmm, slipped in some rubbish, then a pool of sewage, I suppose. I was – you know - I was running."

"Away from Mycroft. Toward us? You don't have to run, love, we'll always wait for you. Always, hmm? I promise."

"John." Sherlock smiled to himself, recognizing John's oblique but forgiving reference to the detective's 18-month absence. Was John finally able to put that chapter of their lives behind them? The detective knew it continued to be a raw nerve for John from time to time, and who could blame him? The doctor never brought the matter up, himself, and when it did enter conversation in passing, as a reference point, John hung his head and said nothing. But here, suddenly was a note of loving forgiveness. Do I deserve it? Never mind. Give something back, quickly, but don't overdo it. He lowered his voice to his bedroom tone. "That's - very prettily said, John, love."

"Ahaha. Well, thank you." John always blushed a little at Sherlock's bedroom tone.

As John unbuttoned his friend's shirt, the scent of the doctor's soap and skin filled Sherlock's senses. Then he remembered he'd neglected to check the flat and its environs for cameras and bugs as he usually did when he got home.

"Oh, let me check -." Sherlock stepped away, but John gently restrained him.

"Hey, hey, that's all right, we had a look around. I think we were thorough enough for now, hmm, come on. Come back to me."

Sherlock turned back to his partner, his face, his eyes. Sherlock was delighted with John's initiative-taking this afternoon, and wondered how blue eyes could be so deep and so dark. John was sliding the cloth of Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders now and Sherlock breathed in, hissing at John's touch and the cool air of the room against his now bare skin. John locked eyes with his partner again, smiling up at him as the doctor undid Sherlock's belt, then his trousers. He paused a moment, and pressed his hands under the elastic of his friend's pants, taking fistfuls of the flesh of Sherlock's backside in his hands, pressing against him, digging his chin into Sherlock's shoulder. He heard Sherlock purr.

"Mmm, lovely. Together, yeah?" John shucked off his friends trousers and pants at the same time, pausing to let Sherlock toe out of his shoes. John slipped the socks off his feet, caressing the calves, the ankles with a smile and a certain reverence. The soiled clothes were flung aside.

"This ankle is swollen. What have you done?"

"It – doesn't hurt – much."

"We'll put some ice on after the bath, hmm?" John continued stroking the skin of Sherlock's shin, then rose, smiling.

"My hands are filthy, John." Sherlock smiled, gesturing, wanting to touch his friend.

"S'ok. Plenty of time. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." John smiled, taking Sherlock by the waist, leading him to the bathroom.

Sherlock hadn't had anyone's hands on him in the bath since he was a very small child. At first, as he stepped into the tub he was a little embarrassed, but when the gentle herbal scent of the water and Molly's bubbles hit him he didn't have to be told to lie back and let them do the work. He closed his eyes, and dipped his head beneath the water's surface, wetting his head completely. When he resurfaced he relaxed and let John and Molly take over as they scrubbed him from head to toe.

"Here, love, wash your own face, will you? So you don't get soap in your eyes." Molly handed Sherlock a flannel.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, his word becoming a bit of a wet bubble against the soapy cloth as he washed his face.

"Why shouldn't you get soap in your eyes?" Molly frowned.

"No, why – do you do this – why do you do these lovely things for me – I can, I can certainly -."

"We like to, love," said John, gently scrubbing legs and feet. "We know things are hard for you."

"What things?"

"Everyday things," said Molly, "Not like this, but other little every day things are frustrating for you. We wish we could do those things for you, too, but we can't. But we can do this, and you can let go. And – we like to touch you. To – take care of you."

"Mmm." Sherlock put the cloth aside and leaned back again, closing his eyes, and felt Molly move to put her hands on his head, working his usual shampoo into his hair. "But," he continued, "Am I worth it? Such trouble?"

"Hmhm, yes love," Molly hushed.

"Worth it? Don't be daft. But, it's also a bit of foreplay, too, isn't it?" John snickered. Sherlock smiled as John gently scrubbed Sherlock's abdomen with a flannel. He dipped into the water, now, and was gently washing his friend's sex, the insides of his thighs, his testicles, his backside, the cleft of his arse, his tight ring of muscle. Sherlock relaxed, spreading his legs, arching his back, purring.

"No, it's not foreplay, not for me, it's – it's just - ." Molly couldn't help but smile.

"What a liar! Ahaha, yes, I can see that it's not foreplay for you at all, Molly Hooper Watson!" John put his wet arms around Molly, biting her neck gently, and then kissed her, putting his soapy hands all over her blouse as he groped her breasts. He pressed his fully hard erection against her thigh. "You're not at all wet under there, are you?" John kneaded her backside gently.

"Hmm, well, I am now." She leaned into John's embrace and kissed him. Sherlock smiled at the sight of them, feeling very much a part of their play, even while he himself was sleepy and content in his still warm and bubbly bath.

"Come on, John," Molly said, breaking from her husband, "Let's rinse him off, and get him to bed, hmm?" Molly reached between Sherlock's feet, and pulled out the stopper, letting the water glug away. Sherlock could see through Molly's and John's silent communication that there was something very definitely on for tonight. What's going on? He wondered. Something new and by the look of John's face, something dangerous. Could it be – tonight? No. He would tell me, wouldn't he? He did before – when we -? No, he's – afraid, of losing control, he wants to have control over it somehow. Oh my god. Oh my god! Sherlock was suddenly fairly confident that tonight was the night. His breathing hitched, and he was sure he was showing a bit of pink in his face and neck, perhaps his chest. He hoped this would be covered up by the steam in the bathroom, by the heat of the bath. He struggled with his expression, trying to relax the muscles of his face, trying to keep from grinning.

Molly rinsed Sherlock thoroughly while John waited with a huge fluffy white towel over his arm. He smiled patiently as Sherlock pulled Molly off her feet and into the tub with him, kissing her, petting her.

"Umph, the two of you – you're getting me wet – you know what I mean – stop laughing at me! Come on, love," she said, "let us dry you off."

Sherlock stepped out of the bath and stood still as John and Molly rubbed and buffed him like a vintage auto. They reached up and tousled his hair in another smaller dry towel, then led him to bed, where he saw his restraints awaiting him. In a few moments Sherlock was bound to the bed, his legs spread wide, his arms over his head as before. John was kissing and licking his neck. Molly was close, too, kissing his shoulder, stroking his side. They all agreed on 'biosphere' again for the safeword, then descended upon Sherlock, with mouths and tongues and fingers.

"I'm all clean, love," John said into his friend's ear.

"What?" Sherlock took the opportunity to test to the restraints again.

"Yes, love. Tonight. Now. I know you already know. I saw you blush in the bath. Very lovely." John slid down Sherlock's body, smiling and took his cock in his mouth, as Molly kissed and stroked their lover's face.

"But, John, love, don't you want – oh god!" Sherlock arched his back, pressing into the pleasure of John's hot wet tongue on him, the doctor's fingers already wet and slick with lubricant, searching and then suddenly finding his opening, thrusting in, brushing his prostate gently.

"You're so lovely bound, aren't you?" Molly cooed in his ear as she watched Sherlock's expressions of frustration, desire and pleasure morph back and forth into one another. "Yes, I could watch you all day, all day as John sucks you, puts his fingers inside you. But isn't he marvellous with his wicked tongue?" A particularly loud groan of pleasure escaped Sherlock as Molly watched his face. She smiled, feeling herself getting wetter and wetter. "Mmm, lovely darling, but don't come yet, all right? We're going to use you rather mercilessly tonight, if you don't mind."

"Yes, please, do what you want, oh, god, Molly, please do whatever you want."

"Mmm, thank you love. I promise that we will."

Molly kissed Sherlock and slipped off the bed, already unbuttoning her blouse. Sherlock watched her as Molly unteasingly, frankly revealed her body to him, unbuttoning, unzipping, unveiling her lovely smooth skin, piece by piece until she was naked before him. Sherlock's attention was divided between what lovely things John was doing to him, and Molly's incredible nakedness. He groaned as John brushed against his prostate again, but then he opened his mouth, hoping that Molly would come back to bed, straddle his chest and press her sex against his face.

"Molly, love? Oh, god, John!" Sherlock tried to beckon her to him, but Molly sat in the chair that was directly behind her, directly in Sherlock's line of vision. She got comfortable and then bent her knees up, opening herself to Sherlock's view completely and then she reached down and touched herself, rubbing gently, slowly, licking her lips.

"I – I – John, Molly, please, please -." Sherlock strained against the cuffs, making the bed groan under his efforts, his pulling and struggling.

John released Sherlock's cock from his mouth with a popping sound, then took it up again just to release him with the same sound, he repeated this a couple more times, popping out Sherlock's cock again and again, then laughed.

"Take it easy, love," John advised, stroking his friend's cock with his hand, the fingers of his other hand deep inside the heat of Sherlock's body. "It's going to be a rather strenuous evening for you, I think. You'll have to pace yourself a bit, hmm?

"John, I – I'm already getting close, I think - ."

"Mmm, that won't do. Molly, where - ?"

"Dresser. On top, mpphh." Molly had gotten rather worked up and was already closing in on her first orgasm. John located the cock ring on the dresser and quickly fastened it to the base of Sherlock's shaft enjoying his friend's mild shout of mixed protest and accord.

"Ok?" John kissed the inside of Sherlock's thigh and quickly turned his attention to Molly, picking her up and turning her around. He pulled her back against him as he sat in the chair. Molly was in John's lap, now, in the chair again, being impaled by John as Sherlock watched, rapt and panting. Their bodies together created the alter at which he worshipped. John's face was regrettably blocked, but Molly, her back against John, looked into Sherlock's eyes, offering herself to him, open, wanton as she moved against John's gentle thrusting. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to kneel before them, now, between their legs, Molly's draped over John's, and kiss and suck their bodies where they joined, moving. But he was tied. He pulled against the restraints, fairly howling his frustration. Molly smiled at Sherlock's struggle even as she was quite close to her own climax. It approached, and she felt that edge of panic she usually did. She ground against John, his cock thrusting deeply into her, but also reached down to touch herself.

"Just use your hips love," John urged her, and letting go of her breasts, which he was kneading at the same time he supported her weight in his lap, he grabbed her wrists instead.

"Oh, John, let me go, let go of my hands." Molly was frantic, now, wanting to touch herself, but John knew she loved the frustration and panic. "Oh, please, John, please," Molly urged, trying to slip out of John's grip, but even as she did so she was surging against John, quickening her movements to shorter quicker thrusts until her world dissolved around her, and her body began the uncontrolled shaking that signalled her finish. She let out a series of cries, and finally collapsed back against John, who continued to pulse into his wife.

"Ooo, Molly, love, you just got incredibly wet for me, darling, oh, god you're so lovely." John wrapped one arm firmly around her chest, and gripped her hip as he finished himself off, fucking her from behind. They lay back in the chair for a few moments and then the couple looked up to see Sherlock watching them, his hips still thrusting involuntarily, trying to gain purchase upon the air itself for some relief.

"Oh, god, poor baby. Come on, John, let's help him." John and Molly approached the bed now, and Sherlock closed his eyes in relief and pleasure as John teased his cock with his tongue, and Molly straddled his chest.

"Hello, darling. Want to taste a bit of John? Well, really both of us, both of us together, you'd like that wouldn't you, love?" Molly didn't wait for an answer, but leaned forward gripping the headboard in her hands as she faced the wall. She pressed her sex to Sherlock's mouth and sank down gently, moving slowly carefully. She felt him purr against her, felt his tongue and teeth press into her skin. He was making her insides throb a bit, then she began to grind down against him, pressing herself against his tongue and lips the way she liked it best.

"Yes, moan for me love," Molly urged him, "it feels wonderful when you do, moan long and loudly for me, will you, oh, lovely, darling." Sherlock tried to keep up a constant loud moaning against Molly's sex, and let the moaning be punctuated by shocks that John was causing him, his fingers inside him again, brushing mercilessly against his prostate. How long can this cock ring actually keep me from coming? he wondered, I don't know how much longer I can hold on.

At length Molly unseated herself from Sherlock's face, and turned around to face John, pressing back down onto Sherlock's mouth, now facing the other direction. Sherlock continued to tongue and nip Molly as he felt two mouths descend onto his prick, slurping at him, kissing him.

Molly smiled into John's face as the two of them worked at Sherlock's erection with tongues and mouths.

"We have him, John, love, we have him, he's ours," Molly whispered.

"Mmm, yes, love, he's ours, now, we won't let him go." John skimmed Sherlock's prostate again, and watched Molly's face register an unexpected moment of pleasure as Sherlock reacted to John's touch.

"He bites me a little when you do that." Molly said.

"Oh, sorry, I -."

"Don't be absurd. Do it again."

"Oh, I see, all right."

"Ah, oh god, lovely." Molly reached for her husband face and kissed him gently, then devoured his mouth, biting and sucking him until he yelped from a particularly brutal assault with teeth.

"Mmm, sorry, love," Molly said carelessly, "Let me have his cock now, will you?"

"Of course, darling," John knelt up in the bed, helping to support his wife as she slid to Sherlock's hips, and straddled his hips, looking down at him. She took his cock in her hand and stroked him, running the nails of her other hand along the shaft.

"I'm so lovely and wet, Sherlock. It will be easy, so easy for you to get in. See?" She pressed her sex against Sherlock's shaft, thrusting backward and forward on him without letting him enter her.

"Oh, god, Molly love, please, please . . ."

"Yes, love, yes, now - ." Molly raised herself up slightly, and pressed Sherlock's cock into her. Sherlock swore and Molly let out a loud moan as she sank down on his considerable shaft, holding still for a moment once she was completely filled with him. She was a little off balance, now, Sherlock still could surprise her sometimes, even like this, his cock was so large inside her small frame. She looked at him, her lips parted, speechless, and she saw him smile at her, knowing that she had to get control of herself for a few moments.

"It's all right, love, take your time." Sherlock licked his lips, loving the moment, loving the moments still to come.

At length, Molly began to move against Sherlock, but she was so wet, and so ready that she only thrust against her lover a few times before she was near her climax again.

"Hmm, lovely, Molly, darling, what a sweet compliment," said Sherlock, thrusting his hips as best he could as Molly lost control and thrust against him with abandon.

"Oh, god, love, I didn't mean to come so fast," Molly whimpered as she collapsed against Sherlock's chest, kissing him, stroking him.

"Hmmhmm, no? It was lovely, in any case, sweetheart. Kiss me, love?" Molly smiled up into Sherlock's face and pecked him quickly.

"Ready for more?"

"I don't know, I -."

Molly slid to one side of Sherlock and John slid into bed on Sherlock's other side.

"How do you feel?" John asked, licking a long path along Sherlock's neck; his tongue lingering behind his ear, swirling around in circles.

"John, love, I'm – I'm - ."

"Nervous? I thought that was my department?"

"Well, I – what, John, what do you plan to - ."

"Well, I thought I'd have you here, tied up like this. We'll let your ankles go, hmm? I'll ride you. You'll like that, won't you?"

"But John, your first time, don't you think -?" Sherlock wondered if John were quite ready for what he was suggesting.

John straddled Sherlock, pressing his face into his neck, setting his teeth against his skin, experimenting, not quite biting.

"Ah," said John, smiling, "Molly's getting me ready, now. She has – her fingers – oh god, inside me, three now. Oh, fuck." John was licking and kissing Sherlock's lips as Sherlock panted, his breath coming shorter and shorter, and was getting more and more irregular.

"John, I – I just wonder if -."

"Shh, we'll figure it out, hmm? Oh, god, she's ahaha, using more lubricant. That's good, Molly, love. Oh, shit, what, ah!" John pressed his face against Sherlock's chest, moaning, then smiled up at Sherlock again. "She's using that awful pink phallus, ah, she's, ah, Molly, love, ahaha." John took Sherlock's face in his hands, kissing him, then leaned back, locking eyes with him. "It's all the way inside me now, love." Sherlock watched John's color turn darker, pinker, watched him close his eyes then listened to him whisper, "She's fucking me with it, now, you know, slowly – ah – in and out.

"John, love are you – are you afraid I'll – I'll hurt you, or - ."

"No, no, nothing to do with that sort of thing – I'm – It's hard for me - to let go, you know. Hard to – relinquish control."

"Yes."

"I – I need – I don't know. I'll unclip you, I promise, just let me – have this first moment my way, won't you?"

"Yes, of course." Sherlock pressed his face against John's in what he hoped could be interpreted as an encouraging gesture. "Hmmhmm, she's, she's putting a condom on me. And now some lubricant, ah, thank you Molly, love."

"Oh, I forgot," Molly chirped and hopped off the bed, undoing Sherlock's ankles, so he could bend his knees and move his hips more freely.

Sherlock was breathing hard and fast now as John nuzzled him, bit him, and seemed to be either teasing him, or unsure of how to begin. Then he lifted his head to smile at Sherlock, as he sat up slightly.

"Molly, will you - help us out a bit?" John asked, his own breath ragged, as he bit his lower lip, his eyes still locked on his partner's.

"With pleasure," Molly licked her lips, taking Sherlock's cock in her hand. She held John by the waist, rubbing circles against his skin and gently pressed Sherlock's tip against John's opening, which was exposed and ready with plenty of lubricant. Sherlock hissed in his breath at the moment of penetration. He watched as John's body stiffened somewhat, and the doctor let out a little sigh of 'oh.' John seemed to force himself to take control and leaned down pressing his mouth to his friend's, licking and biting his lips.

"Oh, John," Sherlock breathed as he felt John's body constrict around the tip of him. "Oh, god, so tight, love," he whispered in his friend's ear.

"Mmm," John murmured, unable to make too many words. John continued to kiss his friend, taking in the sensations of Molly's hands rubbing comforting patterns on his back, and the tip of Sherlock's cock inside him. He tried to relax, now, relax those lower muscles. John carefully sat up a little higher and slowly pressed back and down against Sherlock's stiff shaft, enveloping him, impaling himself.

"Sherlock, I – oh god." John sat up on Sherlock's hips, quaking slightly, and Sherlock had to smile.

"John, love, let me go, now, hmm? Let me go, we'll be slow, yes? You can tell me what to do, just let me help you, let me hold you, please – Molly, you see he's a little – out of his depth, yes?"

Molly had to agree with Sherlock, and she moved to quickly unbuckle him from his restraints. As soon as he was free, Sherlock swept John into his arms, gently lowering him to the mattress, withdrawing from him almost all the way.

"Come here, Molly, stay close, love," Sherlock beckoned to Molly, and she slid in to John's side, stroking his arm, kissing his neck. Sherlock looked down at his friend, who was still a little off balance, though he seemed to be comfortable, smiling up at his friend.

"All right, John?" Sherlock asked, smiling and shaking his head at John's gesture.

"Did I get you?"

"What? Did you get what?"

"No, did I get you? Did I surprise you?" John asked somewhat dreamily.

Sherlock sighed, deeply in love.

"Yes, John, love. You surprised me. You very much surprised me."

"Ahaha. I thought so. I thought I would."

"Yes, yes, you did, love," Sherlock reassured John as he pulsed ever so gently, ever so shallowly into his friend.

"Mmm, good. That feels good, Sherlock."

"Oh, god, love, does it? Good." Sherlock pressed a little deeper in, but still gently, slowly.

"Mmm, yes, it does. Burns a little, doesn't it? But so good. Full – umph. I knew it would be – good. Yeah, like that, oh god. I've wanted to feel you inside me for a long time. I just – I just didn't know – how to – begin."

Sherlock wasn't sure what John meant, but things were getting a little blurry for him, now as his own desire and need began to make themselves known more sharply.

"Well, that's all right, we're here, now." Sherlock nuzzled his friend's ear.

"Deeper, love." John put his arms around Sherlock's neck, and pressed his face against his chest.

"Like this?" Sherlock pressed deeper into John, now he was almost all the way in.

"Mmm, deeper. Harder, yes? I think - ."

"Oh, god, John, love, yes, like this?" Sherlock pressed deeper and a little harder, but continued to be careful, so careful.

"Ahaha." John looked up at Sherlock with a smile and a question in his eyes. "I thought – I thought you wanted to fuck me properly? Come on, harder. All the way."

"Oh, god, love, you're going to drive me mad," Sherlock pressed a little harder into John, driving all the way in, lifting John's legs as he pumped in and out for several strokes, moaning a little, then he looked down at John again.

"I thought – I thought you wanted – to – to -." John looked up at Sherlock with that same question in his face.

"John, for god's sake, it's your first time," Sherlock started pumping into John with more abandon, more power.

"Ah, yes, that's – that's what I -." John's grimaced smile of surrender was almost more than Sherlock could take and he kissed his friend soundly, his mouth, his eyes, he licked his nose as he continued to stroke into him.

"All right – all right, John - tell me if it's too much – will you promise, hmm? Promise you'll tell me?"

"Yes, yes, I promise, go ahead," John reached to Sherlock's ear and whispered, but still loud enough for Molly to hear. "Fuck me, now, love I want to feel you all the way in me, all the way, I want to feel you on me, moving against me, fuck me hard, as hard as you want, ok? I'm a grown man, I've seen what you do to Molly - I won't break, go ahead - show me, show me everything."

"Oh, jesus god," Sherlock just about lost his mind, and then he lost almost all control as he pounded into John, throwing his gentleness aside as the pent up frustrations of six months rose up in him to be purged.

The evening would always be a bit of a blur for Sherlock after that moment, but he remembered, despite his near total loss of control, John's face smiling up at him, encouraging him, moaning and cooing to him, smiling his approval. The doctor never went quiet, but continued to be an active participant, though it was Sherlock who did most of the so-called work. Lots of potential, thought Sherlock at one moment.

At length, Sherlock knelt up in bed, pulling John's hips against him, continuing to thrust into him, though now at a different angle.

"Oh, jesus, fuck, ahaha," said John.

"Molly, love, would you like to join us?" Sherlock smiled as Molly took John's cock in her mouth.

"Oh, my god, oh my fucking god!" John arched his back into Molly, and squeezed his muscles hard against Sherlock. "I don't know – how long I can -."

"Don't worry love, not long now." But Sherlock felt Molly reach for his cock ring. "No, no, not yet, Molly, leave it for a moment or I won't last at all – let me – mmph, let us finish him, first, hmm? Then, let me go, can you?"

Molly nodded her assent without letting go of John's prick, and John was vocalizing more loudly, now, swearing and including Sherlock's and Molly's names. Sherlock continued to pulse against his hips while Molly sucked him and John's senses somehow mixed themselves up and he didn't know where he was or what was happening or if he would ever come down again from floating in the air like this or if he would remain like this forever. At last he came, shouting Sherlock's name loudly, ending with a resounding 'I love you,' which made both Sherlock and Molly titter lightly. Sherlock continued to stroke against John as the doctor opened his eyes, smiling up at his friend. He seemed coherent despite their evening's extended debauchery.

"Molly, love, can you take the cock ring off? I don't think we can keep him this way much longer, can we?

"Yes, darling, now?"

"Hmm, not sure, let me ask. Now, Sherlock?" John asked as he reached for his friend, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him down to him.

"Yes, please, John, Molly, please, now, now, please -."

Molly managed to reach between the two men's bodies and release the little ring from the base of Sherlock's shaft. The detective took a moment to adjust, slowing his thrusts, then quickened them again, as John pulled Sherlock down against him, locking his legs around his waist. Sherlock had only a few more thrusts left before he was shouting his release, shaking stiffly against John's chest, then he collapsed, almost completely covering John with his spent body, his face hot and wet against the doctor's neck. As John gently caressed Sherlock's back, he caught Molly's eye and the couple smiled at one another. John gestured with his mouth and Molly came to him, kissing him, her own hand straying to Sherlock's back, entwining with John's fingers, stroking their lover's back together.

"Love you, darling."

"Love you, we love you, Sherlock."

"We love you."

)))))))

Arms and legs untangled, hair was pushed out of eyes, faces were rubbed with fingers, and by and by the three found themselves comfortably arranged – with Sherlock in the middle, in their familiar bedroom. It was that time in the morning when the candles were winking out, slowly, one by one as they came to the end of their lives, having burned far longer than usual.

Sherlock's arms were around each of his people and though they were each cuddled up to him, each with their arms around him, within kissing range of one another, he couldn't seem to get them close enough. He squeezed them to him again, kissing John's sandy hair, then Molly's temple.

"You'll have to get used to it somehow, love." Molly murmured, petting Sherlock's chest, kissing him, tonguing a nipple.

"Get used to what?" Sherlock asked.

"Get used to how much we love you," John offered, yawning, stretching.

"I don't think so – I don't see how - ."

Sherlock watched as Molly leaned up on an elbow, her hair cascading down her arm, a few strands strayed to Sherlock's own arm, his chest. So unutterable lovely. How did I waste those first few years that I knew her? Well. I'm an idiot. John's right, I'm a complete idiot.

"Hmm, that's ok. Don't, then, never get used to it. Doesn't matter. Such a pretty mouth. Such a pretty boy." Molly was running the fingertips of her free hand along the outline of Sherlock's lips, back and forth. At length, she pressed two of her fingers into his mouth and he nipped her, then sucked the fingers, tonguing them. Molly's eyes half closed at the warmth of his mouth. She withdrew her fingers after a few moments and leaned down to Sherlock's face, brushing her lips against his cheek, his nose before descending to his lips. Slowly, languorously she licked them, then his teeth, then she explored the secret hiding place of his mouth, searching out each divide between his teeth, tickling the upper palette with the tip of her tongue.

John watched the two as their kiss deepened, and seemed to last and last. He smiled. This was how it all began, he reflected. With me watching them. Watching them kiss, then making love and then – they - they wanted me to participate. Sherlock wanted me – and I – wanted him – but I only knew it later. Is that right? John found it didn't matter. The moment was more important than how it had arrived. And now, it was here. It's here.

)))))))))))))

Thanks for waiting for me, ahaha.

I love you, my sweet little puddings.

Next will be Molly's birthday holiday.

That might break down into a couple chapters

AND THAT WILL BE THE END!

More stories within the realm of this one will be posted as one-shots.

I have a bunch of ideas already.

Those will all be carefully labelled as being 'within the realm of J'sIfor3'

Would love to hear from you

You know the deal:

Impoverished arts-type desperate for stroking.

Looking forward!

I respond to everyone who reviews or PM's me.

Except for guests, I can't respond to you because of how the website is set up.

Love, love, love!

Oh yeah – it's crazy and I don't know how to work it

But I made a tumblr page

.com

VERY NSFW (not safe for work!)

VERY 18+

Might be dangerous.

There is serious porn of various varieties

Just a few randomly reblogged images that I find fun

And which I think vaguely illustrate the notion of Jollock

Enjoy!

But like I said, I don't know if things work, like if you can leave messages. And I know the stuff I've reblogged doesn't come up in any tag searches I do.

I don't know what that means. Alas.