Here we are – the beginning of the end.

Hope you enjoy.

Birthday Holiday I

Debauchery, Sherlock thought again as he trotted down the stairs of Mycroft's office building, to the sidewalk in central London. He scanned the traffic as he buttoned and smoothed his suit jacket and quickly spotted the rental car John had described to him on the mobile only moments before. And sure enough, there was John at the wheel, waving his hand out the window to signal his friend. It was a sedan, probably very comfortable inside, and Sherlock didn't fail to notice the tinted windows of the back seat. He smiled to himself at what this weekend was for. To celebrate Molly's birthday. Celebrating Molly's birthday, however didn't simply mean birthday cake and gifts. He knew what Molly wanted, and he was grateful that he was still a young man. He wondered briefly about John and how his friend had put up with – well, with her insatiability, before the three of them were together. Oh, we'll celebrate properly, Molly love, never fear.

But there was some secret surprise his lovely people had planned for him, as well, he knew. He had tried very, very hard not to try too hard to deduce what was going on, but he had a very good idea of what was going to happen. Some sort of mimicry of normal people, he was fairly certain. Some sort of a – thing - to make me feel like I'm a part of them – some sort of little – ceremony? Some little tradition? An exchange of tokens? Good lord how potentially nauseating. I must be very careful to react properly, show that I like it. Oh for god's sake! It was just about the level of twee that Sherlock would not be able to tolerate. How would he get through the weekend without offending his lovely people?Sherlock bit his lip to keep himself from smiling smugly, and to keep from blushing. He wasn't completely sure how he felt about whatever they had planned, but he was starting to embarrass himself at how very much the attention pleased him. It's not right. It's not my birthday. He thought.

The sedan pulled up at the kerb and John popped out of the car, leaning over the roof and raised his voice over the ambient noise of London at midday.

"I'll take care of the driving – if you don't mind? Molly drives like a maniac, and I don't think you like it very much do you?" He asked as Sherlock approached the car.

"Ah, no, that's quite true, but - ."

"Let me do it then – my little control thing –It's not so very far. Near Bournemouth. you don't mind?"

"Not at all – " Sherlock made to get into the front passenger seat.

"But, why don't you – keep Molly company?" John tilted his head and licked his lips at his friend, "It's her birthday, after all."

Sherlock looked at Molly's smug expression in the window. She winked at him and then opened the back door for him, nestling further into the car, and disappearing from view. Sherlock smiled at John with a roll of the eyes.

"Is that going to be a sort of catch phrase this weekend? 'It's Molly's birthday, after all?'" Sherlock asked John.

"Well, yes, I think so." John grinned as he ducked into the car, and Sherlock joined Molly in the back seat.

John pulled out into traffic as Sherlock and Molly briefly kissed and settled into their seats. Molly seemed to glow as they drove for a few minutes in silence.

"This is so lovely. Taking a trip. A romantic weekend. All together, with no – no problems to concern ourselves with. It's so wonderfully - well - normal, I can't believe we're doing it. I can't tell you how much I've been looking forward to this."

"Well, we've got to get there first," Sherlock heard John say and he noted a fair amount of tension in his voice.

"Any time, John, I'll be happy to do my part." Sherlock reminded him.

"Well, we'll see. Let me get us out of London, first." John put his full attention on the traffic. He's quite stressed already. Associates driving with some of his Afghanistan experiences, no doubt. I'll be sure to take over when we stop, Sherlock thought, and turned his attention to Molly.

"I don't mean to gush, but - I'm just so – just so – Ahaha. Well, I've been looking forward to it so," Molly smiled at him and Sherlock sighed with pleasure as the two pulled in close and put their arms around each other. While this morning's latest meeting with Mycroft had been easy enough and pleasant enough and thank god brief enough, it was still a tension producer for the detective, and Molly's presence was always a welcome and healing balm. Sherlock pressed his mouth to the top of her head in a kiss, and Molly reached her face to his, reaching for his mouth with hers.

"Not tired of me yet?" He asked her, but there was a smile in his voice.

"Ahaha. You've lost your mind," Molly replied, unbuttoning the first two buttons of Sherlock's shirt.

"Hmmhmm, we're still in the city, love," Sherlock gripped the back of Molly's neck gently as he stroked her cheek with his own, a days worth of stubble still in tact.

"Ahaha. Tinted windows." Molly tried to devour his neck.

"John - she's – she's impossible! Is it all right – if we -?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock, go ahead, it's her birthday. Ahaha."

"All right, hang on, Molly," Sherlock leaned up and touched John's shoulder lightly. "I'll take over when we stop, John."

"I'm fine, love," John assured his friend, but when Sherlock squeezed the doctor's shoulder briefly, just before releasing him and sinking back into his seat, Sherlock noticed the newly built up tension there. Yes, revisiting Afghanistan a bit. We'll have to sort him out when we get to the – hotel room.

Sherlock turned his attention to Molly who already had his belt buckle undone, and was smiling at him smugly as she undid his buttons and zip. She pressed close to him, an arm around his shoulder, her face against his neck, as she gently reached into his trousers, and released his now fully erect cock. She set her teeth into the skin of his jaw line, biting gently as she slowly and gently stroked him. He hissed his pleasure at the contact of her hand, and gripped her waist a little tighter.

"Molly."

"You look so prim and proper coming down those stairs, love. Buttoning up your jacket. Ahaha. Adjusting your cuffs. No one would ever think only moments later you'd be having your cock sucked."

"But I'm not having my – ah, Molly, love, oh for god's sake - ." Molly ducked her head to Sherlock's lap before he could finish his sentence. She gobbled him down, then rose up again to tease his head a bit, running the tip of her tongue along his contour, pressing against the tiny hole. She then took the length of him again, more slowly this time, letting him pulse in an out of her mouth as she reached lower to stroke and pet his testicles.

Sherlock let her do what she wanted, there was little point in resisting her, even if he had wanted to. Not today, not for the whole weekend. He leaned his head back against the car seat, his hands stroking her hair as her head rose and fell in his lap as familiar buildings and sights of the city whipped by his gaze. At length Molly rose up from her efforts, her face pink and wet to kiss him, and he quickly unbuttoned her blouse to find she'd worn no bra today. He pulled her into his lap, pressing his face against her chest, rubbing the stubble of his chin and cheek against her the way he knew she liked and she wrapped her arms around his neck, grinding herself against him.

As he trailed kissed across Molly's clavicle, sucking the swell of her breast, teasing out a nipple with a gentle bite, he stroked her thigh, reaching higher and higher under her skirt until he found that Molly had worn no pants today either.

"Good lord, Molly, what if we're in an auto accident?"

"Good lord, Sherlock, when did you turn into my grandmother?" Molly teased and spread her legs, reaching her hand to his, pressing his hand against her. Sherlock found that she was already quite wet, and he lazily pressed one, then two fingers into her, finding her body quite hot as well as damp. They continued to explore one another in this way, Molly stroking Sherlock's erection, Sherlock with his hand deep between Molly's legs. Finally, Molly surged up against Sherlock, straddling him, her arms around his neck, smiling into his face.

"I love car sex," she said, nipping at his mouth and ears, "Especially when someone dependable is at the wheel."

Sherlock was unable to make words just at the moment, and hauled Molly's hips up, off him, while he reached down and pressed his cock between her legs, against her wet outer lips. He watched her face change to one of unveiled, smiling lust as she slowly sank down the length of his cock, pressing down when she got to the end, grinding a bit against him, just as he was fully seated inside her.

"Oh, god, love." Sherlock pressed his face against her cheek and heard her hum her contentment to him. He ran his hands around her waist and down to grip the cheeks of her backside. He kneaded them, pulling them apart, digging in hard with his fingers.

"Lovely, sweetheart," Molly breathed against his ear, "so lovely. Yes, get a good handful of me, love, let me feel your hands." She pressed her face to his, driving her tongue into his mouth. Then she started to really move.

She gripped his cock with her inner muscles hard, and then let go a little as she swung her hips around in lazy circles, first this way, then the other way. She finished each circle with a little twist of her hips which surprised Sherlock, she'd never done that before. Little surprises all the time. How delightful. Ah! He felt Molly's nails in the skin of his neck gently but firmly pressing into him, scratching down to his chest. She pinched and scratched his nipples as she rode him, making him hiss and moan with little cries of mixed protest.

Sherlock noticed that Molly's movements were getting faster and more erratic. He looked into her face, red and a little sweaty with her exertions and noticed that panicked look she got sometimes as she reached her plateau.

"All right, love? Getting close? Hmmhmm, I love to see you like this. Don't worry, love, don't worry." Sherlock smiled, and bit one of her nipples hard. She cried out a guttural sound and flung her head back as she gripped Sherlock's neck harder, moving against him even more desperately than she had been. He reached for her other nipple and bit down. She cried out again and thrust against him harder, and harder, until she stiffened slightly, her body quaking. He held her hard against him as she rode out the waves of her orgasm, then bit one of her nipples again, just a little more gently than before.

"Mmm, love – " Molly moaned deeply, but her voice registered no pain or surprise at Sherlock's last bite. The pain threshold of women in general is utterly astounding. He noted, not for the first time. All that childbearing equipment must have something to do with it. Must research. Fascinating.

Sherlock continued to pet and stroke Molly's backside as she recovered, but then she was moving against him again, suddenly, but not at all unexpectedly.

"Come on, love, fuck me, take me for a ride, hmm? Don't you want to finish?"

"Mmm, yes, love, just – " Sherlock unbuttoned her blouse the rest of the way and slipped the cloth of it off her shoulders, placing it on the seat next to them. He licked and sucked a nipple reverently, then switched to the other, scratching her back gently with his nails as he did. He smiled up at her then leaned in to fuck the hollow of her neck with his tongue, flicking the tip of it like a serpent. He reached for the waistband of her skirt.

"Need to have me naked, sweetheart? All right." Molly reached behind herself and undid her skirt's button and zip, and lifted the garment over her head, tossing it next to them on the seat alongside her blouse. Then she let her hair out of the barrette that had been holding her tresses at the side of her head. Her dark chestnut hair spilled down her shoulder, covering a breast, and Sherlock leaned back, pressing her away from him a little so he could look at her, his hands running up and down her body from her neck to her hips. He glanced out the darkened windows at the London streets as they sped by, and enjoyed the incongruity of the presence of this naked woman in his lap, on his cock, as they sped through the metropolis in broad daylight.

"Beautiful, darling." Sherlock smiled and stroked her cheek, then pressed a finger into her mouth, quickly adding another. "Lick, that's right suck, get them nice and wet." He withdrew his fingers, gripped her hips against his began to thrust into her, lifting her a little at the hip as he did. Molly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and bit his neck gently, moaning as he pounded away at her, yelping slightly when he reached down her small frame and pressed a wet finger into her smaller tighter opening. She persisted with her little yelps and moans as Sherlock continued to stroke into her. He chuckled softly against her ear.

"You're a wild animal, aren't you love?" He asked as he reached between their bodies, and pressed his thumb into her wet folds, rubbing her clit gently at first, then with more and more pressure. She'd been more passive until this moment, and started to move quite erratically, desperately as she closed in on her second orgasm. Sherlock fairly giggled at her abandon.

"Wait for me, love?" He asked, as he gripped her anew and stroked into her harder now and in more earnest. But she couldn't wait and came again, this time harder, shouting her release more loudly, but he wasn't far behind and was soon moaning into her neck, gripping her to him as he shook and quaked, spilling himself into her.

They held one another for some time, sometimes silently, then cooing to one another, little love words, little compliments. Sherlock stroked Molly's bare back and backside, gripping her hard the way she liked it, and Molly ran her fingers through her lover's hair, leaning in to kiss his temples from time to time.

"Hmm, a little chilly," Molly smiled, and slipped out of Sherlock's arms to retrieve her clothes and was rearranged in them in moments, looking as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary, and Sherlock rearranged his own clothing as well. Molly leaned up to speak to John.

"All right, love?" She asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. You?"

"Hmmhmm, lovely." She pecked him on the cheek. "Are we - ?"

"We're – almost out of the city." John drove on.

)))))

Molly dealt with the registration at the Inn, while John and Sherlock hauled what few belongings the three had brought with them to their rooms. They were in their suite of rooms in what seemed like moments. It was a ground level suite with glass doors accessing a private outdoor area with chairs and table. There was a small kitchen area and a small dining area – a table with four chairs. A sitting area had a comfortable looking sofa and a gas fire, and a large armchair. A smaller bedroom was located just off the sitting room. The main bedroom was quite large, the bed larger than Sherlock's and the bathroom adjoined.

"But why did you insist on driving whole way, love?" Molly asked John.

"No reason – just – just - ."

"Control," said Molly as she leaned down to kiss her husband. John pursed his lips, smiled and nodded.

"I suppose so." John agreed.

Molly stroked his cheek.

Molly sat down next to her husband on the sofa. "Well, I'm for a walk, what about you? There are some extensive woods with little paths - ?"

"Walk? Ugh." John leaned back stretching his neck, rolling his shoulders.

"Yes, you must be tired John," Sherlock came into the sitting room with bottles of water from the fridge and offered them around. When his hands were empty, he reached to John's shoulders, carefully digging down into the muscles, John moaned his pleasure rather unreservedly, leaning forward to allow Sherlock better access to his back.

"Do you associate driving with erm, some of your experiences in Afghanistan, John?"

Sherlock asked.

"Ahaha. Yes, I – I only learned to drive when I was there. Had to - for the – job. But, how – how could you know - ?"

"Tension. This-," Sherlock continued to work his friend's muscles, which even more tightly wound than when he'd touched him in the car earlier. "Yes, this wasn't there this morning when I touched you. Or last night, certainly. There must have been some – moments of extreme – anxiety for you and your - team?"

"Mmm. That would not be an exaggeration." John rolled his shoulders back, enjoying the release Sherlock's touch afforded. "God, that's – that's - ."

"Let me work it out a little, John, hmm?" Sherlock released him and patted his friend's shoulder. "Come on, take off your shirt. Lie on the bed."

"Oh, that's not nec - ."

"John, darling, don't you want to? You can have a nap while Sherlock and I go for our walk." Molly had given up being jealous that Sherlock could give better back rubs than she could. He was physically stronger than she was, and it's what John needed, someone to get in deeply and do some serious work. She found she couldn't possibly resent it.

John looked as though he suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, right, good idea – I'll - ." The doctor stood, and unbuttoning his shirt led a little procession of three into the bedroom.

"Are you sure about a walk, Molly? I think it's going to rain." Sherlock asked trying to remain innocent.

"I don't mind a little rain. Oh, my coat." Molly stepped out of the room for a moment. A romantic walk in the rain, is what she has in mind for us. What am I going to do with her? She'll probably have me in the rain, as well. There will be nothing left of me, nothing left of me by the time we're done this weekend. How delightful.

John had stripped off his shirt, and was lying on his back on the bed, so Sherlock straddled him and started to work on his shoulders. After only a few moments Sherlock noted that the doctor was holding back, silencing his vocalizations.

"Let it out, John, love, it's better for you, I think, isn't it? Psychologically? Physiologically?"

"Ahaha. Yes, of course." John was quiet for a few moments, but breathed deeply and after some moments was able to let the sounds release themselves from his lungs, deep moaning. Of release, of gratitude. John could feel Sherlock's weight as he applied a slight but significant pressure against John's back, pressing his hips gently into the mattress, and John was having a very pleasant physical reaction to this gentle bit of pressure: he was getting hard. He let his mind wander back to a time when Sherlock first gave him this sort of delicious erection-inducing rubdown. Seemed like ages ago, only a couple of months.

"Ah, ah -."

"That's better, John, love." Sherlock smiled, knowing the effects he was having on his friend, and continued his work on John's back.

Molly returned to the room wearing a trench coat and trainers. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what she had on underneath that trench. Anything at all? Just the trainers? Lovely, naughty Molly. A walk in the rain, indeed. All right, Molly, all right.

"You were so lovely to do all the driving for us." Molly knelt up on the bed in her trench coat, and lay across the bed next to her husband, stroking his face. "Thank you so much for getting us here safe and sound."

The three were quite for a moment, Molly and John smiling contentedly at one another, while Molly held John's hand.

"You're sitting on me." John observed after a few moments and winked at Molly.

"Well, yes, I'm – I'm - ."

"I know what you're trying to do. I'm already quite – well I'm - .

"Well, John, let us take care of you properly, let us, ease the tension a bit?"

"Yes, the tension has just about built all the way up. Ahaha."

Sherlock knelt up and dismounted John's back and the doctor turned over onto his back. He propped himself up on some pillows as Sherlock leaned down to undo his friend's trousers.

Molly watched her two men as Sherlock simultaneously unzipped John, and whispered what she assumed were sweet nothings in his ear, when John suddenly exploded.

"No, Sherlock! Do NOT! Do. Not. Call. Me. That!

"Shh, John, love," Sherlock hushed as he continued his efforts to undo John's trousers.

"No, no! Call me 'love' if you like or that other – but not THAT! I've asked you before."

"You mean, 'doctor?'" Sherlock smirked as he stretched out next to an enraged John.

"No! You know what I mean!"

"What?" Molly asked her curiosity whetted. "What does he call you, John?"

"Hmm, it's just words, John, love," Sherlock hushed.

"No, NO! It's too, too - ."

"Wait! What is it? What do you call him, Sherlock?" Molly tried again.

"You mean, 'captain?'" Sherlock smirked some more, fairly giggled. He knew John hated the moniker he'd just called him by, but he thought his friend was being silly and Sherlock wanted to talk it out a bit with Molly present. It seemed like an opportune moment.

"No, no, no! You know perfectly well what I mean, what you just – just now called me!"

Molly waited a moment then quietly asked.

"What, love? What is it, darling? Tell me what he calls you, will you?" Her quiet question and her calm demeanour showed John's outburst in no small degree of contrast and John reigned in his passion on the issue a bit. He bit his lips, looking at Sherlock who was still smiling, teasingly stroking John's hip.

"He calls me – well – he calls me 'my little man.' His – you know his little – oh my god."

"Oh, I see!" Molly's expression lightened. She was afraid it was some bad name or other, she wasn't sure. "Well, John, we all -."

"No, no, I've asked him not to call me this – on more than one occasion, Sherlock! You've already called me 'John, love' in front of people, where will it end? And it's – it's - ."

Molly giggled.

"What?! What's funny about it, exactly? It's – it's – ."

"Possessive?" Sherlock offered.

"For starters, yes, it is. It's - It's quite possessive and also quite – it's quite - ."

"Diminishing?" Sherlock smiled, sitting back on his heels on the bed, trying to calm John by continuing to stroke his leg.

"And diminishing, well, Sherlock, yes, it is. It is in fact."

"All right, John. Fair enough. I want to tell you now that I've overheard you call Molly 'mouse,' 'little mouse,' 'sweet mouse,' and, in fact, 'my little mouse,' and any number of variants thereof on many occasions. I think I've heard you say something akin to 'sweetness' and 'sweet thing,' as well."

"Um - ."

"These are possessive and diminishing, John, are they not? Not to mention objectifying, a mouse being less than a woman, less than a human being."

"Yes, but she knows - ."

"Ah! She knows something. What? What does she know, John?"

"That I mean it – I don't mean it - ."

"Aha! So the fact that she knows how you mean it – that you mean it in some way other than the way the words precisely sound, makes a difference? That because you mean to convey - affection and – I daresay – love, that it's quite all right, perfectly fine and lovely to call her these names. Hmm. Interesing.Excellent, Watson."

John hung his head a moment, but went on.

"But I don't like it Sherlock. Surely that would - ."

"Molly, love?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Y-yes?" Molly always had a bit of reversion back to an old self when Sherlock got clinically entrenched in a subject like this.

"How do you like it when John calls you – those names I just mentioned?"

"I like it."

"You see?" John smiled, triumphant.

"Oh, really?" Sherlock smiled, "Even though those names are all those terrible things, possessive, diminishing?"

"Well, he's trying to communicate – what you said, Sherlock – love, affection, tenderness."

"Ah!" Sherlock slid closer to John, pressing his face to his neck. "John, love, how is that different from when I call you that –? Hmm? Don't you know I do it to communicate - love? Tenderness, as you say, Molly? I do, John. I assure you I do."

"Oh, well – I – but I - ." John was sure he had a point here, somewhere.

"I also happen to know that on special occasions, occasions that recall your time together as man and wife, a time – without me as part of the equation, agrhm." Sherlock cleared his throat, and John wondered if his friend were becoming a little emotional at the mere mention of a time when the three of them were not together. "I know that you call her 'my girl.' Also quite possessive and diminishing, yes?"

"Molly?" John looked to his wife. Had he offended her? Did she hate him calling her that? "Does that bother you? You could have told me, you didn't have to talk to – I mean - ."

"John, love, I never told Sherlock about it. He's guessed it all."

"Ah! There's another perfect example! When I first met Molly she referred to my deductions and case-solving as guessing! Can you imagine? I abhorred it! Because I never, ever guess."

"Yes, you do," said John.

"Not now, John. I corrected her many, many times, didn't I love, but she persisted! She drove me positively wild. And she's never spoken the words 'deduction' or 'deduce' in my presence." Sherlock reached for her hand, brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingers tenderly and continued. "She was doing it to tease me. To get my attention, the vixen. Because she quite fancied me. And I ignored her. I ignored her because I was an idiot. And I wasted those years."

John watched as his wife and partner held hands and gazed into one another's eyes remembering years in which they knew one another, worked together. Years in which, he, John, didn't exist for either one of them. It made his knees weak to think of. Yes, theirs was an unbreakable bond, he knew, one that could never be sundered, however much one might try. Sherlock continued to speak, gazing into Molly's eyes, as though no other were present for him.

"And she forgives me. Look at her, she forgives me my idiotic behavior. My selfishness, my aloofness – all that. Forgiven. I can never – I - ." Sherlock trailed off, still gazing at Molly, petting her hand as he held it in his.

"Shh, love. Don't talk rubbish." Molly smiled patiently.

"No – no of course not. But back to 'my girl!'" Sherlock returned to his subject. "How did you like it the first time he ever called you that?"

"Oh."

"Oh, well, erm, how do you like it now?" Sherlock corrected his line of questioning to be less abrupt.

"I love it."

"All right. See, John? She loves it now. But at first?"

"I – I didn't – at all. But I love it now."

"And why didn't you like it? At first?"

"John – I - ." Molly suddenly felt herself at a kind of Spanish Inquisition.

"It's ok, Molly, it's harmless, he's trying to prove a point, don't worry."

Molly tried to answer Sherlock's question.

"I didn't like it because it was so presumptuous. And I'm not a girl, and I didn't know him that well."

"It – rubbed you the wrong way?" Sherlock suggested

"Oh, god. Yes, but that's – that's - ."

"But that's past." Sherlock finished for her. "You know him now, love him, know how he means this little name. With love and affection."

"Yes, of course. John, I love you, and I love your calling me that, never stop, all right?"

"Of course not." John put his arms around his wife, and kissed her.

"Promise."

"I promise, sweet girl, my. girl. Hmm? Love you."

"Love you," Molly murmured back to him as they kissed lightly. Sherlock waited until the two were smiling and restored. John smiled a little tightly at Sherlock feeling somewhat chastened.

"Are you finished, Sherlock?" he asked.

"Not quite, my loves," Sherlock continued. "John, I must tell you that I happen to know - by guessing," Sherlock winked at Molly, "That you, John – you have something you're thinking to call me. You've almost called me this name a number of times already. But you stop yourself. Some pet name of some kind. I've no idea at all what it is. But you have one – some little love name for me. Don't you?"

John bit his lips together. There was a pet name he'd almost called his friend on several occasions but always stopped himself before blurting it out. He was getting closer and closer to saying the name aloud – but only at very – intimate moments.

"I think, John," Sherlock continued, lowering his voice to his bedroom tone, irrisistable. "I think it begins with an 's' sound, doesn't it? But it's not my name, is it?"

"No, it's not your name." John admitted and smiled, reddening a little.

"Oh, tell us, John, darling," Molly was enchanted. She herself wasn't very good at pet names. The sexiest thing she could think of to call someone was by their own good name. Why did some people have all the fun?

John paused, looking around as though for an avenue of escape. He tensed, and then chuckled, trapped.

"John," Sherlock began, "Please call me this name, you're killing me to keep it from me. I can't figure it out, please tell us?"

"No, no, it's – god – it's too - ."

"Sweetheart, it's harmless," Molly encouraged gently, but Sherlock was beside himself.

"John, John, the last time you almost said it, we were in bed like this." Sherlock hauled John down off the pillows and spooned him from behind with his arms around his waist. "I held you like this, and I was - ." Sherlock put his mouth on John's neck, kissing his ear, his cheek. "And you turned your head, oh, god, you turned your head to kiss me and you almost - almost called me – what? Please, please, John, love, please tell us, love."

John turned his head and kissed his friend, effectively re-creating the moment Sherlock had just described. They were nose to nose, now and John couldn't help but smile and stroke his friend's cheek. He couldn't keep this secret from him any longer, either.

"Sweet prince," he blurted out.

"Ah, oh, god – I – I – Oh, I see." Sherlock paused and considered the seeming disparity between the two love names. He knew that it didn't matter. That 'sweet prince' was just as silly and ridiculous a name as 'my little man,' but saw how the connotations of the names, their implications might color John's feelings.

"John, I – I never, ever - ."

"Don't, Sherlock – you've made your point – well taken - you don't have to -."

"- never considered to you be – my – underling – or my - my servant or - ."

"No, don't – I know that."

"It's just a name – it's just a – I – I wanted to call you something, and it came to me, ahaha, quite spontaneously and I -." Sherlock paused, a hand in his hair at a loss, quite down cast at having offended his friend if he indeed had. He bit his lips together and met Jonn's gaze. "Please – ah – forgive me if I've – offended you." Sherlock made to slip off the bed, but John stopped him, gripping his arm. Molly heaved a sigh of relief, as she watched the potentially weekend-ruining misunderstanding come to an end.

"Don't be daft," John said softly. "I know it's just a name. Come on, come back to me." He held out his arms, and Sherlock slowly crept into them, hanging his head. Molly actually let a moan of pleasure escape her as she watched the two embrace, and she slid up the bed on the other side of John, her arms around him.

"You're my partner, John. You've saved my life – on multiple occasions."

"Shh - I shouldn't have been so sensitive. I know it's just a name. You can – oh, god, I'll rue the day – you can go ahead and call me – that, if you want - ."

"Hmm, we'll see. You're my partner – I never thought of you – I never thought of you as – as - ."

"Inferior?"

"I-, I -." Sherlock balked at the word – a word he'd used so often to describe everyone, anyone. Absolutely everyone.

"Incapable of logical thought processes?"

"Well, I – that is – I - ."

"Ahaha. But I think of you as superior, Sherlock, I do. Because you are. You simply are." John's tone was that of a loving, patient parent.

"I – But you're – you're – you – and Molly you are - ."

"We know you are, Sherlock – superior – in so many ways." Molly added.

Sherlock sat up, frowning, waving his hands, as if to bat such an annoying issue away.

"You are – You are, Sherlock - ." Molly and John spoke almost at the same time.

"I – I – well yes, of course I am, but – ."

Molly and John laughed together.

"That's my boy."

"Same old Sherlock."

Sherlock realized he was being joshed, but only a little. He reddened a bit at so much acceptance when normally, with any other people he'd have nothing but derision at asserting his superiority so blatantly. Here, with these two people was a seeming bottomless font of approbation and love. He grinned.

"Oh, for god's sake you pair of idiots! Shut up! Shut up! And – damn it, John, give me those trousers! Stop that snickering, Molly and help me!"

Molly helped Sherlock work John's trousers off, at first with laughter and giggles, and then with gentle murmuring and cooing as mouths and fingers descended on John's skin. Sherlock and Molly played their usual game of kissing one another as they pressed their mouths down around John's cock, licking him, kissing him. Then Molly took her husband's length into her mouth while Sherlock kissed and sucked John's testicles, then they switched places and switched again, until John could scarcely tell whose mouth was whose. Though he could tell, of course, he could always tell. Molly's mouth was smaller, hotter, wetter, slightly more tentative, while Sherlock's mouth was – oh, god, Sherlock's mouth – ah!

Sherlock gently reached between the doctor's legs and pressed into him shallowly, gently.

"Oh, god that's – that's not at all nec- – oh, god -."

Sherlock smiled at John's verbal backsliding, but made no comment, sensing, knowing that the doctor was relaxed and enjoying himself. And if there were any doubt, John dispelled it by spreading his knees wider, giving his wife and friend better access to him. At length John succumbed.

"Close," he said to whoever might hear him, and continued to babble his litany of curses, including Sherlock's and Molly's names. So predictable, thought Sherlock, so reliable, so lovely. Molly's tongue was tickling John's testicles while Sherlock plunged his mouth down onto John's shaft, working it vigorously until John came, shaking and pulsing through the waves of his orgasm, a hand on the head of each of his lovers's heads, gripping their hair a little roughly. When John was finished, and finally lying back spent and relaxed, Sherlock and Molly kissed little meandering trails up the length of John's body to his collarbone, his throat, jawline, cheeks and lips.

"Come, love, let me taste him," Molly reached for Sherlock, and they kissed until Molly could taste the bitter and somehow piney taste of John on the detective's tongue.

"Lovely," said John looking up at his wife and friend, leaning over him. He rubbed his face with this hands and breathed deeply, deeply satisfied.

"All right, love? Let me get you a blanket." Molly hopped off the bed, and brought a light cotton blanket to cover John's nakedness. Then Molly hopped off the bed again, waiting, a little impatient for her walk, now, but Sherlock lingered by his friend's side.

"We'll take our walk, now, all right, John?" Sherlock slid off the bed, but John grabbed his arm again, and pulled him back.

"Go on, say it – you can – call me that – name – if you want."

Sherlock smiled, and leaned to John's ear.

"I adore you, my little man," he whispered so that only John could hear.

"I love you, too, sweet prince." They were close, John's mouth at Sherlock's ear, Sherlock's lips touching John's cheek, and they pulled away from one another slowly until they were looking into one another's eyes. The two men held their gaze for a moment then and burst into laughter, laughing so hard that Sherlock couldn't stand up from the bed. Molly had to take his hand and lead him out of the room, leaving John on the bed in his cotton blanket, convulsed with laughter.

"You two. Grown children. Come on love, before it rains. We won't be too long, John, darling." Her words were hardly discernable, though, over the whoops and renewed outbursts of the men's laughing jag. Molly managed to get Sherlock out the door, but even as the two walked briskly down the hall toward the door and the woods outside, they could hear John's ebbing outbursts, and Sherlock's answered each one. Molly smiled as she slipped her hand into Sherlock's, and Sherlock's laughing eyes met hers as they opened the door that led outside and toward the woods.

)))))

I think I've put off finishing this, now, far too lengthy nonsense because it's become such a fixture for me.

It's been so much fun, and then I got bogged down in it, and then fun again and now, I really need to stop!

Sorry I didn't make yesterday's promised date! Forgive me!

A one-shot called Preferences coming soon.

I'll need a little more time to wrap this baby up.

But I think only one or two more chapters. Hopefully only one!