Hello, my darlings.
Here it is – the end.
As with many endings . . . bittersweet. So bittersweet.
Birthday Holiday III – the end.
Alone in the soapy water, Sherlock let his head rest against the rather enormous old bathtub. The heat of the water was gently melting away the cold and the damp that had begun to stiffen his muscles, his bones. The wet weather and conditions to which he and Molly had let themselves be subject had certainly been exciting and feral, but civilization – tea, a bath and fluffy towels - were just as important. Sherlock submerged his head, wetting his hair. Before raising his whole head out of the water again, he blew some bubbles out through pursed lips – for the fun of it. Molly had filled the tub with hot water, the way she knew he liked it, and had put just the right amount - Well, maybe a little too much, but never mind - he thought - of that herbal bubble bath of hers that didn't offend him overly much. It's quite a clean fragrance, he reflected, like grasses, a field of wild flowers. A clean wildness – Molly. He breathed in the scent and closed his eyes, letting the warmth and the fragrance continue to relax the cold and ache away.
And John, Sherlock thought. He really is moving on from - the difficulty of the false suicide, the long absence. To hear him say 'I forgive you,' was a bit much, just as John said, almost too absurd for the human ear. But for Sherlock to hear John say it had been – quite moving nonetheless.
Moving forward. Moving forward. And now this exchange of tokens that Sherlock was convinced was happening next. A demonstration. His people wanted to demonstrate their – devotion. Their love. No need, no need he'd thought many times when he'd realized what they might very well be planning – and yet – He craved such a demonstration, felt rather greedy for it, glad it was to come and soon. Why? For the – sweetness of it, he admitted to himself. The childish delight. The dear sweetness. And he could allow them to see that the gesture moved him. And he longed to be able to show them this. Disgusting, self-involved, indulgent, revolting. He felt vestiges of his longstanding habit against sentiment try to assert themselves. He smiled, knowing that he had been conquered, quite conquered. He'd become as pathetically emotional as any of them, any of the 'normal,' folk he'd ever ridiculed. It ruled him to a degree, he knew. But not such a degree that it hampered his work, it would seem. While he'd continued to be quite in love, and for their part Molly's and John's passions hadn't seemed to decline, the work had gone on unfettered after that little period of adjustment when he'd cleared the kitchen of experiments. But now things were back to normal, well, almost normal. The work continued. But so did the emotionalism. And he liked it. He submerged his head again as an embarrassed grin took over his face, and he felt his cheeks turn pink. He stayed under as long as he could without air, then finally burst back up again.
Still, he was worried. One question remained concerning his alliance with Molly and John and it had been bothering him off and on for some months now and he frowned at the thought of it as he shampooed his hair. He thought it was an issue that could potentially tear them apart, and he somewhat dreaded knowing how his people would respond to this remaining question. But Sherlock suspected that however unconventional their triad was, they were strong enough to weather a storm or two. I shall have to put it to them, that's all. I shall have to – bring it up. One of us must, for god's sake, one of the three of us. Why not me? Indeed. Perhaps it should be me, rather than one of the two of them? Sherlock determined he would air the matter this weekend without fail.
Now, what precisely is this surprise they have cooked up for me?
He scrubbed up and rinsed off, then he pulled the tub's plug and reached for a fluffy towel.
As he dried off, and noted the clothes Molly – or John? – had laid out for him, Sherlock caught a whiff of something floral that was not related to the bubble bath. He smiled to himself as he dressed, and as he ran his hands through his hair looking in the mirror. Flowers. Adorable.
Sherlock dressed at a measured pace, not wanting to rush, not wanting to surprise Molly and John. They'd laid out one of his usual suits with a button down. He slipped into pants, trousers, socks, and shoes. Then his shirt, and he buttoned it up as well as the cuffs. He slipped into his jacket and opened the door of the bathroom, slowly, slowly and stepped out as he adjusted his collar.
The scent of flowers became much stronger as he walked through the little sitting area. There was an enormous flower arrangement of mostly white and yellow on the low table at the sofa. He breathed in it's scent, and admired it for a moment, then smiled as he looked up to see Molly and John standing at the island in the kitchenette. Molly was lovely in a summer dress of floral pastels, her hair loose, a strand from each temple caught in a barrette at the back of her head. She smiled at him, and beckoned him to join the two of them where they stood. John was smiling and pouring glasses champagne. His suit was dark blue suit with a floral patterned bowtie. Nothing short of completely adorable. Sherlock approached the pair.
He immediately noticed that there was a simple white dinner plate on the island where John and Molly stood. On it he saw were lying three gold bands.
"Have the pair of you lost your minds?" He asked, but rubbed his face with one hand to try to lessen the burn he felt in his skin, to abate the blush he knew coloured his face.
"Ahaha," John smiled. "You knew – something like this was coming. If you hadn't liked the idea, you would have, mmm - done something – to – let us know? To stop us. Do I have that right?" John was smug in his knowledge of Sherlock's modus operandi. He pushed one of the flutes of champagne toward Sherlock, and handed another to Molly.
"Mmm, yes. Quite right." Sherlock accepted his glass, but set it down again, leaning closer to the plate with the three rings.
"Go ahead, have a look." Molly encouraged him.
Sherlock looked at the three rings. They were very modest, quite slender in width, and of yellow gold. Completely plain. But on the inside, he could now see, each one of the bands had three gemstones worked into the gold which were flush with the inner surface of each band. If worn on a finger, the gemstones would be invisible.
Sherlock reached to pick one up but paused for a moment, looking to his people.
"May I?" he asked.
"Yes of course," John smiled and then sipped at his glass.
Sherlock picked up the largest ring and examined the three stones on the inner surface. Molly and John watched him frown for a moment, then smile with understanding.
"Moonstone. Moonstone for Molly?" He said, and smiled when Molly nodded, sipping her glass. Sherlock looked back to the ring and frowned again in concentration. "Nephrite? Oh, yes of course, Jade. For John." He smiled at John and John nodded, silently toasting him with his glass. Sherlock returned his concentration to the inner surface of the ring.
"Sapphire." Sherlock paused. "But sapphire is – sapphire is - ."
"The best of the three. It's the hardest – the strongest." Molly said.
"The most valuable." John added.
"Yes, of course, but it's - no, no – it's – it's too - ." Sherlock's head swam. This other aspect of John's and Molly's little demonstration had taken him completely by surprise.
"It's also the most beautiful." Molly continued.
"Well, that's – that's completely subjective that's – but - ." Sherlock was still struggling for words.
"No. Not really." John said. "Its obvious beauty is part of the reason it's more valuable than other stones, aside from its durability. Ahaha. Apparently you can throw them off buildings and they don't come up with a scratch." John silently congratulated himself for making a joke about Sherlock's long absence, though it seemed to go unnoticed by the other two.
"You – you're both just as – I mean – the three of us -." Sherlock wasn't normally tongue-tied like this, and John couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Ahaha. I thought three diamonds each, but Molly suggested the name idea. I thought it was charming. Don't you? And unique. Like we are, the three of us."
"Yes, yes. Charming, quite charming." Sherlock mumbled his words somewhat as he had one hand over his mouth to keep Molly and John from seeing his lower lip trembling. With the other hand, he continued to hold and turn the ring, comparing the three stones, noting the work carefully. Molly stepped over to Sherlock and gently laid her hand on his arm and smiled up at him.
"All right?" she asked.
"It's nothing you have to wear, you know – just – we wanted to give you something – to, to show you -." John looked and sounded a little worried, but Molly understood.
"We can talk about all that later," Molly smiled at John and shook her head trying to assure her husband that nothing was amiss. But she was a little worried herself when Sherlock put the ring back down on the plate with the other two. She was reassured, however when he spoke again.
Sherlock averted his gaze from his people, then looked up and made careful eye contact with each of them.
"Perhaps – one of you – ?"
"Yes, yes, of course. John?" Molly gently took Sherlock's right hand in her own. John understood, and picked up the largest ring. Together, John and Molly gently slid the ring on Sherlock's middle finger.
"Stay with us, love." Molly murmured, and reached up to peck Sherlock's cheek.
"Please stay with us, we love you, we can't do without you." John pressed Sherlock's forearm.
"Yes. Yes, I will." Sherlock felt his mouth go desperately dry as he spoke the words and wondered why he couldn't speak above a whisper. He smiled at his people as they each squeezed his hand, the one with the ring, and gently let go. He looked at the ring on his finger, the back of his hand, then turned his hand palm up, rubbing the ring with the fingers of his other hand. He looked at it very carefully on his finger. It was very modest looking, rather feminine, though it seemed perfectly acceptable on his finger. Nothing gauche, certainly, nothing at all over done. It might be the ring of some female relative one might wear as a tribute. Nana, he thought. Had she had jewellery like this? I wonder. But the stones inside, the sweet secret of the stones inside – oh god! He took the ring off to examine the gems again.
"It's – too much." He murmured, not meaning anything but the emotion.
"You – we don't have to - wear -." Molly began.
Sherlock slipped the ring back on and grinned.
"I defy you to remove it." He took Molly in his arms. "Hmm? Can you?" he asked, then he kissed her and squeezed her to him. "Go ahead and try. Can you get it off?" he murmured again, as he rocked her a little in his arms, delighting in the ridiculously sheer quality of the fabric of her dress.
"No," said Molly without trying to, "I can't get it off." The pair beamed fondly into one another's faces for another moment or two and then Sherlock released Molly with a peck, and turned to John, but waited for him carefully. He saw John looking at the ring on Sherlock's hand.
"Suits you." John smiled, but was serious again as he looked at his friend. Sherlock reached to touch John's arm, and slowly they came together. Their arms slipped around one another in an awkward hug but then they relaxed somewhat, feeling the comfort of one another's bodies.
"You – made a joke – about my absence. It was stupid. A stupid joke."
"Ahaha. Yes, sorry." John admitted.
"I loved it. Thank you." Sherlock made an exception to his own private rule about thanking people for things. He was so relieved to hear John refer to his absence in a light hearted manner, he felt he had to thank him. John smiled into his friend's shoulder as the two men continued to hold one another. John's hand sought Sherlock's throat as it often did when they were together, running his fingers up and down the sculptural lines he found there. Sherlock pulled away slightly to smile into his friend's face and his fingers found John's lips, then he leaned down and licked the doctor's nose.
"Jesus, Sherlock, what are you doing? Why do you do that?" John complained, but laughed as he wiped off his nose.
"I'm just appreciating your nose. It's so very lovely," Sherlock purred in his friend's ear. "Such a fine English nose."
"It is," Molly said pulling in close to John, kissing his nose as well. "It's a beautiful English nose."
John laughed and wiped at his nose again with his hand.
"Ahaha. It's perfectly ordinary. What is it with you people and my nose?" He smiled at the pair and then quickly caught Molly's right hand in his own.
"Ah, yes of course." Sherlock picked up the smaller ring from the plate.
"Molly, love," John began, and reached to Sherlock's arm with his other hand. "Stay with us, darling? Never leave us?"
"Please, Molly - ?" Sherlock managed.
"Of course I will." Molly smiled as Sherlock and John slipped the ring onto one of Molly's fingers. Sherlock gripped the ring where it rested, rubbing it and her finger with his thumb. Some of the images of the few hurried, adrenaline charged days and desperate moments they'd shared just before his 18 month absence came rushing back to Sherlock's mind. At the time he'd been almost certain that those moments would be the last they'd ever share. That was all changed and now it seemed there were to be more, many more moments to come. Years and years to come, he hoped. His head fairly swam with the joy of it. But this – this was almost too much – almost too much more to have. Both of them. Male and female. The whole world in my bed. Both of them, mine, all mine. Always. Always.
"Sherlock?" Molly had taken John's hand in hers, and was looking up at Sherlock with a smile.
"Yes." Sherlock took up the last ring and together he and Molly slipped it onto John's middle finger.
"J-John?" Sherlock was quickly becoming a quivering, trembling emotional mess. His breathing was irregular and he was hot, horribly hot all of a sudden and even felt a droplet of sweat run from his hairline down his neck into his collar. Molly stood next to him and took his arm in hers. She held him hard and smiled at John who was utterly cool and collected.
"John, love, please stay with us? Always? We – we need you so. Oh, John." Molly smiled through her tears which surprised her, coming to her very suddenly as she squeezed John's hand.
"Yes, John, please?" Sherlock voice was hoarse and only a whisper and he gripped John's wrist as he spoke them. He remembered John's first visit to the lab when they met. Sherlock couldn't quite get that time straight in his head, now, he'd been so completely cut off from people, completely uninvolved in any intimate way with anyone. People had had affection for him, cared about him, and of course he'd cared for them, as well – Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, even Stanford. But never had he had a friend before John. An intimate friend.
"Of course I will. Love you. Love you both. Ahaha. Look at the pair of you." Molly and Sherlock were in tears, but giggling now as they wiped up their faces with serviettes that Molly produced from somewhere. John was chuckling with deep affection.
"Ahaha. Lovely. You're both very lovely. Come on, now. Drink your drinks! Get a hold of yourselves, for fuck's sake. Come on, we have to get to the restaurant before it closes." He shook his head at the pair of them, but took Molly in his arms, as she was closer, then reached a hand to Sherlock. He soon felt Sherlock's arms encircle the two of them, and then there were all three giggling and sighing and kissing in one another's arms. John chuckled at length, and pulled away from Sherlock and Molly, patting them each on the arm.
"Come on, now, loves. Dinner."
Sherlock woke sometime during the wee hours somewhere in the middle of the bed. He experienced a moment's disorientation as he realized he wasn't in his own bed, but somewhere else. Ah, yes, on holiday. Molly's birthday holiday and our secret wedding ceremony. Ahaha! Impossibly sweet. So lovely that it's secret. Hidden from prying eyes. He relished the almost total privacy he had with these two. He had always been personally disgusted by marriage and its public quality. The seemingly required displays of affection, the seemingly posed displays of domestic quarrel. Well, that's the point. The foundation of society, the married couple. King and Queen. Mother and Father. Yes. But not for him. Never for him, he knew. This was perfect, perfect. It was private between the three of them, and in this way he felt it was more truly and completely his own and their own. He remembered soon after his return, he'd walked into the lab at Bart's one day for a case and quickly saw that he'd burst in on a bevy of tittering females with Molly at the center. He realized she was the focus of their laughter and giggles as they teased and riled her gently over the advent of her recent marriage. Idiots he'd thought at the time. The ribbing she was enduring! The blatant questions about her sexual life with John! Size, length color, weight, duration! Sherlock had seen that it was all in good fun and that Molly was taking it all very good naturedly. But had Sherlock been in her position, he couldn't have endured it. He remembered the sting of jealousy and loneliness, too when he'd made eye contact, ever so briefly with Molly in that moment. But Molly had seemed suitably guilty, and Sherlock was mollified but only temporarily. That was mere weeks before she and John had come to him that very first time. Sherlock had no doubt that John had the same treatment at the clinic. But this, this is wholly ours, secretly ours – no one – or at the least very, very few will ever even know – ever have access to our lovely lives, to me and my beautiful people. The sweetness of such secrecy pleased him deeply.
And here I am. Here we are all together, me and my lovely – well, here's my lovely Molly, he thought. He heard Molly's familiar quiet breathing just to his left in the dark of the bedroom. He smelled the scent of her diffusing into the air with the heat of her body. Her soap and shampoo mingled with her body's own sweetness and the scent of her sex, her now very well satisfied sex, he knew, and the effect was floral and something of the woods, like John. Something of pine. Heavenly. It was hard to resist touching her, but he refrained and let her continue to sleep. But where's my John? Sherlock thought as he sensed the cold emptiness in the bed to his right. On cue, as it usually happened in Baker Street, he heard the toilet flush and John's step at the door, and John returned to his side of the bed. He saw Sherlock lying awake, looking up at him, and he smiled as he slipped back into bed, taking Sherlock in his arms, resting his chin on the top of his head of dark curls.
"Feel all right?" John asked, whispering.
"Yes. Hmmhmm, you feel all right, as well." Sherlock chuckled, gripping John's backside in both hands, squeezing hard, pressing close.
"Ahaha, I – yes I did – I mean – I do." John felt himself redden, as Sherlock continued to stroke, and grip his hips and backside. John felt himself become hotter and hotter as he remembered the evening's activities, as he remembered Sherlock's hard cock deep inside him and thrusting hard and harder, as he remember Molly's sex on his mouth, the taste of her on his tongue, as he remembered coming like a train. Like a train crashing into a building. Like a train crashing into a building on fire that was about to explode and then did so.
"You like it, don't you?" Sherlock whispered wickedly and squinted into the darkness, trying to read John's expression, but it was too dark. He could read the doctor's body language easily enough, however. John remained pliant, relaxed, almost confident in Sherlock's arms, not at all submissive. He was a little hesitant, though. But only hesitant to answer. Still those taboos at work, reigning him in, Sherlock surmised. He tried to tease his friend into a response.
"You do like, it don't you? I thought you were –well. I didn't know you would – like it – so very, very much John, darling, but you do, don't you? Hmmhmm." John continued to be quiet, and Sherlock squeezed his arse harder, kneading him, pulling the two halves open, teasing at the opening with the tips of his fingers. "You love it, don't you?" Sherlock whispered, now. "You love it - when I'm inside you."
John could feel his skin on fire, he chuckled again, still stroking and petting Sherlock's arms, his neck, pressing a kiss into his curls from time to time, alternately tensing and relaxing as Sherlock worked his backside with his fingers. He chuckled again, but said nothing. Then he moaned with pleasure as his friend continued to stroke him. Sherlock smiled against the skin of John's shoulder.
"It's all right," Sherlock went on. "You don't have to say anything. But I know you do, I can feel it, I can feel it in your body when I – when I'm inside – hmmhmm, oh, John." Sherlock waited for a response from him, but John still remained quiet but for another familiar chuckle. Then the doctor squeezed his friend to him, hard, forcing a little breath out of Sherlock's lungs.
"Mmph. Strong." Sherlock said, pressing his face to the doctor's neck, kissing and licking the skin of his throat.
"Love you - darling," John whispered.
"Love you, too, sweetheart." Molly said rather loudly compared to the dialog the two men were sharing. She rolled over in her moment between sleep and wakefulness to see the silhouettes of the two men in one another's arms. "Oh, you're both so lovely." She murmured when she saw them.
"Love you too, sweetheart," John said, slipping away from Sherlock to take Molly in his arms. As he began kissing her, he felt Sherlock strip the duvet from their bodies, and throw it off the bed. He slid down to John's hips, stroking his skin as he went. As John kissed a trail down Molly's neck to her breasts he felt Sherlock kissing his back, then his backside. As John trailed lower to kiss Molly between her legs, he felt Sherlock gently pressing his buttocks apart, kissing John's cleft, tonguing his puckered hole.
"Ah, oh, love," John breathed between kisses, then he buried his face into Molly's sex again.
"Please, please, John?" Molly was pulling her husband to her, pulling him gently by the shoulders, urging him to mount her. It was a plea he couldn't ignore, and John leaned up and in to her, pressing against her for a moment, then easily sliding into her heat and wetness. She moaned very satisfactorily as John began to stroke into her as he kissed her, a hand blancing him, another hand at her breast.
"Sherlock?" Molly called out, "Will you – come behind me love?"
Sherlock hummed his agreement, and slid out of bed in search of condoms and lubricant. While he was gone Molly relished the moment alone with her husband.
"You were beautiful together this evening, darling." Molly cooed in John's ear. She remembered the three of them kissing and teasing when they first came back to the suite after dinner. They'd gotten to bed and Sherlock had gently and beautifully taken John. It had made her weak to watch them together.
"Mmm? So were you – beautiful together."
"Mmm, yes, he's had a work out. Oh, sweetheart." Molly voice had something of alarm and warning.
"All right?" John slowed his movements.
"Getting close to close." Molly kissed him, and they slowed together, enjoying their kiss. "You remember our first time together?" Molly asked.
"Oh, god, Molly, love. I'll never forget." John recalled that desolate, suicidal time, and how Molly had come to him, given him hope and tenderness. She'd given him nothing less than a reason to continue living. "I owe you my life, darling." He smiled against her cheek, kissing her.
"I'm so pleased you – you enjoy – him." Molly seemed intent on sharing a secret with John and he smiled at her. "Isn't he – beautiful – when he's -?"
"Yes. Yes, he is, oh, god, Molly, he's – he's - ." John tried to find words, but started moving more quickly against Molly again instead.
"Easy, love, easy. He's coming back."
Sherlock returned to the bed with a towel, condoms and lubricant. He spread a towel in the center of the bed, Molly and John repositioned themselves accordingly. Then Sherlock put on a condom and pulled Molly's back against him as they both lay on their sides. He kissed her neck and shoulders as he reached between her legs with lubricant coated fingers to find her nether opening. John slid in close to Molly and pressed into her again, regaining his position deep inside her. He held her hip with one hand, and pulled in close to her with his hand on one of Sherlock's shoulders.
"I'm ready," Molly said and arched her back, causing John to slip out of her momentarily, the pair giggled and kissed, then waited for Sherlock.
"All right," Sherlock pressed into Molly from behind, gasping at the tightness of her surprisingly strong little ring of muscles.
"Please, love, please," Molly was begging him, no sign of hesitation for this act, only greed for it. She was already arching hard against him, trying to swallow him up.
"Just a moment, love, just a moment, you're - rather tight." Sherlock breathed.
"Oh, sorry," Molly took a deep breath and then blew out the air slowly through pursed lips.
"Ah, darling," Sherlock felt Molly's lower muscles relaxing, and he pulled her against him, sinking his cock deep into her. He buried his face in her shoulder, setting his teeth in the skin, but then spoke. "So lovely, darling." He continued just to hold her, getting used to his position behind her, the tightness of her body on him. "John?" John managed to reenter Molly and began to move.
John built up his speed from a careful slow stroke to one more and more forceful as Sherlock and Molly found their rhythms against his. The men were fairly silent as they built their pace, but Molly's wordless whimpers were continuous and became more and more frantic as time went by.
"John, love, we're all together," She gasped suddenly and John slowed.
"Yes, Molly, we're all together," Sherlock's face was at her shoulder, smiling at John. Even in the dim light, John could sense Sherlock's smile, and he reached to kiss him, then Molly. He continued to move against Molly, and noted how he was able to feel Sherlock's cock against his own, even deep inside her. He reached a hand to Sherlock's face and he felt Sherlock's hand on his hip.
"Yes, sweetheart. We're all here." John assured her as he began to pick up his pace again.
"Ah, love, close, I'm close," Molly gasped as she continued to thrust against John in front and Sherlock behind her. The two men closed the space between them, making a more constricted space in which Molly could move, which made her even more frantic. She cried out protests at the sudden limitation, and moved with more desperation, using all the strength of her lower muscles until finally she came pressed between the two men clutching at her, holding her.
Sherlock and John continued gently moving against Molly, petting her, kissing her.
"You know just what I like, you both do, don't you? You know just how to do it." Molly smiled blissfully, stroking whatever cheek her hand found to stroke. Sherlock deferred to John, gently withdrawing from Molly, and John pressed Molly to her back, the way he liked to have her.
"All right, like this?" he asked, kissing her.
"Of course, of course." Molly arched her back and began pushing against John's thrusts.
"Sweet mouse," John murmured into his wife's ear as he started to loose control. "Oh, Molly, love," he murmured just before his litany of cursing began. Molly was moving against John again quickly, as she usually did and the two came almost at the same time. John continued to kiss and murmur little love words to Molly after he finished, then eventually he slipped off her, still holding her in his arms. He rested his head on her shoulder as the two recovered from their shared crises. Then John felt Sherlock slide next to him at his back as he often did just after he and Molly had been together. He felt Sherlock's erection pressing into his thigh as he held him lightly around the shoulders.
"You're so lovely together, so lovely," Sherlock murmured into John's ear, as he slid down the bed, to kiss John's back, to bite his backside again, caressing his hip and legs.
"Sherlock -?" John felt a sudden falling sensation and his head was swimming as he perceived this gentle but complete loss of control. He'd worried about a moment like this, and here it was. A moment when Sherlock might want – this, to have him when John had already come. A moment when John's only reason to let Sherlock inside would be for Sherlock's enjoyment, when John's enjoyment of their union would be of penetration for its own sake. He gasped at Sherlock's tongue between his cheeks again. Then he felt Sherlock's hand, slippery with lubricant slip between his legs and penetrate him with a finger, then two.
"Molly, you don't mind?" Sherlock chuckled, clearly intent on having John again this evening, clearly certain that John would want it, too.
Sherlock felt John's tension and unease, but wasn't at all bothered by it. He knew John wanted it, wanted him inside again, even if he didn't come. But Sherlock had the courtesy to ask anyway.
"All right, John?" Sherlock purred in his friend's ear. "Feeling a little defenceless?"
"Ahaha, yes, a little," John admitted.
"But all right, yes?" Sherlock asked, pulling John away from Molly, pressing him onto his stomach, lifting his hips, stroking John's arse and flanks with his palms. "All right, like this?" Sherlock asked but smiled to himself. John's pliancy and relative cooperation as he pushed him this way, and lifted him that way was answer in itself.
"Oh I - yes, of course," John's voice was muffled somewhat by the pillow his face was half buried in. But from behind? John thought, why does he need it to be this way? I won't be able to see him, I won't be able to – touch him. I'll only be—an orifice for him. An object. He imagined the faces and arses of all the girls he'd ever been with in this position flash past him in an instant. He felt his neck getting hot, and a prickly mad feeling of excitement and badness took over him. He breathed deeply.
"That's right, love, don't forget to breathe," Sherlock stroked John's back and flanks as he pressed his fingers deep in side, then pressed the head of his cock against John's puckered hole and watched the tip disappear inside him.
"Oh, Jesus god," John was a little surprised at the speed and relative roughness with which Sherlock entered him this time, but he had to admit to himself how thrilling it was, the burn, the quickness, the complete confidence. The goddamn arrogance. Yes, all of it, all of it was tantalizing, thrilling.
"Just wanted to let you feel it a little more, all right? I think – it's what you want, isn't it? John, love? Sherlock cooed, and continued stroking, smiling. "Shall I – stop?"
"N- No, no." John continued to breathe deeply, careful not to hyperventilate. "No, I'm – ok.." John arched his back and pressed his backside against Sherlock's hips as he exhaled.
"Ah, lovely," Sherlock felt John's muscles let go of him a little, and he pulled the doctor's hips against his own, gently driving his cock all the way home, relishing John's moan of pleasure only somewhat mixed with doubt. Sherlock held still for a moment in this position, all the way in, his testicles pressing against John's skin, and he reached down and ran his palms up and down John's back, hoping to relax him a little before he started to move. He smiled as he felt the doctor's muscles quake beneath is fingers.
"Jesus fucking Christ," John breathed, trembling. So deep, so deep. Oh my god, what's it going to be like when he moves?
"Different this way?" Sherlock asked as he continued to rub John's back, gently, reverently.
"Y-yes. I didn't – think -."
"It's good though, isn't it? You feel all right?"
"Yes, yes." John couldn't help moving a little, pressing against Sherlock even more, bearing down a little.
"Mmm, a little bit eager, too? That's so lovely, sweetheart, but don't worry, just try to relax a moment." Sherlock's voice was like a chocolate soufflé. Smoothe and deep and sweet.
"Ok." John tried to hold still, tried to let Sherlock's hands soothe him, let his voice and his bedroom tone run through him. Then he felt Sherlock withdraw slightly, then press back in.
"Oh my god." John gripped the sheets in his hands as he felt Sherlock's balls against him again, cool and dry. He wondered, not for the first time even at this late date, how on earth he and Sherlock had gotten to such a stage, but put the thought aside quickly.
"Molly, love? Sleeping?" Sherlock purred toward the other end of the bed.
"Hmm? You must be joking." Molly said, frankly admitting that she was watching and completely transfixed.
"Ah, I thought not. John, you don't mind if Molly watches you get shagged from behind for the first time, do you? It is her birthday after all?"
"Ahaha. Come, love, come to me, here." John reached to Molly, and she slid beneath him, looking up into his face despite the dark.
"Ok, sweetheart?" Molly was smiling, excited as she reached up to kiss John. As their lips connected Sherlock began to move, and she felt her mouth fill with the sound of John moaning.
Sherlock's initial pace was a bit lazy and careless and he knew it would disorient the receiver a bit, which was just what he had in mind. A kind of initiation. It was all so familiar, though he'd abstained for many years. Tea at uni came to mind for some reason. Not very good, but it was always cozy and the biscuits were lovely. Never mind. He calculated that his roughness would leave a bit of a sting for John, but he could tell that John was excited to have a bit more experience in this capacity, and Sherlock was happy to give it to him. He gripped John's backside roughly, squeezing hard, pinching hard, leaving marks. He rejected the notion of even light spanking, however. No, no, that's not necessary. Sherlock picked up his pace a little bit, slamming home a little more roughly on each stroke.
Molly was rapt as she watched John's face change from a smiling confusion, to a grimace of pain and pleasure inexorably mixed. She tried to comfort him a little, and continued kissing his lips, his cheeks, but he was so otherwise occupied, Molly thought he hardly seemed to notice her.
"All right, love?" she asked.
"Yes, darling," John reassured her, and leaned to kiss her, but quickly his attention was taken from her. It was thrilling for her to watch.
"Oh, fuck, oh Jesus Christ, Sherlock." John's jaw dropped open and his eyes seemed locked on something too impossible to be real. Then Molly thought his head seemed to jerk a little at the neck, and she wondered if he were getting close – to what, though? He'd just come a few minutes ago. What on earth will happen?
"Have you ever had a dry orgasm, John?" Sherlock's voice was hoarse, and Molly thought he must be getting close, too.
"I – I - ." John felt his body thrusting back to meet Sherlock's ever increasingly rough and sometimes painful thrusts. John didn't seem to be able to stop himself from meeting him stroke for stroke.
"That's all right. It may be – ah – a little surprising, a little – uncomfortable, perhaps. But you should probably experience it, as a doctor. No? Hmmhmm.
"I – you - ."
"It's all right, love, almost there." Sherlock chuckled and began to pound into John much harder, slamming and twisting into him, and John's vocalizations were no longer isolated shouts of surprise, but a continuous tortured moan. Sherlock kept up this rough contact for several strokes, then suddenly stopped, and began shallowly thrusting into John very quickly, hitting one particular spot very carefully.
"Sher-, Sher – oh, fuck, oh fuck, shit, I – I – Molly, Sherlock, oh god!" Sherlock felt John stiffen beneath him and spasm slightly.
"Lovely, John. I - oh, close, I – Molly, can you get out from there? - I'm close." Sherlock's voice was strained, though he seemed still be in perfect control.
Molly slid out from under John, and Sherlock pressed John down in the bed, and began to thrust into him in a desperate frenzy, moaning his release at last and collapsing on John's back. Molly moaned with pleasure at the sight, and smothered the faces of the two men with kisses as they recovered. She felt Sherlock's arm around her then pulling her against the pair of them and he leaned to kiss her devouring her mouth.
It was a very grey but, fortunately rather windy day. The sky was slate, and the sea was the same, only darker, deeper. Sherlock reclined on a blanket they'd brought from the inn and spread on the sand. He lazily sifted handfuls of sand through his fingers as he watched John and Molly fly the kite today, Molly's birthday. The three of them had successfully launched the kite into the breeze and for a while watched it bob and swirl, bright oranges and yellows against the dire English sky. Sherlock had wandered away a bit to look at his people from a distance, and now he'd found his way back to the blanket. He smiled as he watched his people, their feet bare, their trousers rolled up, running back and forth from the water's edge, getting wet. They'd none of them dressed for swimming or even summer and the weather was unseasonably cold today, but it was lovely, crisp almost autumnal and Sherlock relished the moment - observing the pair from this objective distance for these few stolen moments. It was a bit of private devotion, of private worship.
John and Molly had let the kite's line out quite a way, now, and it seemed to be at a sufficient height and the breeze seemed to be of a sufficient strength for it to be out of danger of dropping into the water. The kite's position seemed so precarious, but to have one's hand on the line, as Molly did, as John did, as Sherlock had when they'd launched it initially, was to know that the kite was fine, in no danger, and for the moment steadily set on the breeze.
John looked up and noticed Sherlock sitting by himself watching. Sherlock saw him speak into Molly's ear, turn to where the blanket was spread, and run to Sherlock's side.
"All right?" John asked, smiling.
Ever the doctor, the bedside manner. Always asking how I am. How delightful.
"Mmm, perfectly." Sherlock smiled as John dropped onto the blanket next to him. The two men held one another's gaze for several long comfortable silent moments. Then John dropped his gaze and gently slid over quite close to Sherlock, then lifted his face to his friend.
"You've been – rather thoughtful. All morning, I think? Anything in particular on your mind?" John smiled his encouragement.
"Very observant, Doctor."
"Mmm, indeed. Well, yes, there is something." Sherlock pursed his lips, wondering how to approach his topic. He was determined to bring it up to his people, but was a little unsure of how these things were managed.
"Ah, good, here's Molly." Sherlock said, looking over John's shoulder. "We definitely need Molly for this conversation."
Molly had managed to pull the kite in and was returning to join the pair on the blanket. She set a couple of stones on the kite to keep it from blowing away.
"What's up?" she asked, breathless, her face beaming, her cheeks pink, the complete picture of health as the wind whipped her hair around her head beautifully.
"Sherlock has a topic for discussion," John held out his hand to his wife as she dropped to the blanket, the three of them forming a little triangular circle.
"What is it, love?" Molly laid a hand on Sherlock's knee and he took her hand in his, marvelling at its smallness, it's fineness. He leaned to John, and took one of his hands in his free hand so that they were all connected.
"It's been on my mind for some time, and now it seems – well – I feel I must ask you – I've been – well – frankly, I've been afraid to ask."
"What is it?"
"Tell us love."
"I just need to know what your thoughts are – if you'd ever considered – well – if you're considering -. Oh my god. I'm ridiculous."
"Come on, just say it."
"Sherlock, just ask us, love."
"If you'd ever considered – well of course you've considered, I just need to know, I need to know - ." Sherlock paused and squeezed the hands of his people in his own, then brought the two hands to his lips and kissed them. He looked at the two new rings on their hands, and looked at the new ring on his own. He took a deep breath. Yes, he thought, I think we might be able to weather a storm or two. He looked up into the smiling waiting faces of his darling Molly and John. They didn't seem at all concerned at Sherlock's worry. He looked more closely at the pair, and realized - they know. They know exactly what I'm thinking. They know exactly what I'm bringing up today. And they're ready for my – question, my questions. They're quite ready and they're – they're so lovely. And they're mine, all mine. Always. Always. He smiled back at them, relieved and happy, knowing that everything was all right. No one was going anywhere. Nothing could tear them apart, anyway, not yet. Not just yet. He signed with great contentment. Then put the question to them, though he suddenly didn't need to, didn't need to know anything further. Their looks, their smiles were all he had needed. For form's sake, he spoke the words.
"Well. I was wondering – I mean, perhaps we should have a conversation about - children."
The end . . .
But not really, as I will continue with the one-shots.
Check out 'Preferences,' a one-shot also under JennoftheGlenn here on fanfic.
I will revisit and post and update much more delinquently and with much more infrequency, however, as I have a lot of other stuff I have going on now.
Give me a poke when you want to hear from me!
This has been an amazing ride that I will never forget and from which I have taken many invaluable lessons.
I adore each and every one of you that has found his/her way to these pages.
Please tell me something in a review or a PM, it will make me so happy.
It's the end, so when will you have another chance to tell me what you think?
Feel free to ask me any questions you may have . . .?
I adore you.
I adore you.
Kisses and hugs and kisses
And one last kiss.