This is all MizJoely's fault! And the Beatles! And…oh, the heck with it!

Molly paused, looking at him in the mirror, her barrette not yet closed. "Just promise me you'll behave." She had had a sinking suspicion ever since John had invited the two of them for the newly married couple's first dinner party in their new home. "This is a big deal for them, especially for Mary; she still thinks you don't like her."

"I got John to the church on time." Sherlock seemed to concentrate on a bit of non-existent dust on his lapel, realizing the trap too late to avoid.

"Within two hours of the time on the invitations hardly counts." She pulled a few wisps of hair loose across her forehead. "Besides, he was still covered in glitter…"

"It was a case!" the hard stare just enough of a pout to make her smile. "Hardly my fault he tripped over that boa and caught himself on the make up table!"

"You knew that, I knew that, Mary knew that, but her family thought you'd brought him straight from the bachelor party!" She waited until he'd drawn a deep breath to retort before she dropped the hammer. "And don't think I didn't notice where that red thong in his suit pocket really came from!"

He swallowed his come back, trying to hide a sudden smirk. Maybe she was just a little too observant.


She almost felt sorry for Sherlock; almost. Her real pity was being used for both Mary and John. Mary was still trying to get used to her new oven and as a result the joint of meat wasn't going to be ready anywhere near when she'd expected. Mary's collection of under-her-breath curses was truly awe inspiring, but the delay was a possible time bomb.

John, bless him, had recognized the potential problem and moved to do all he could to keep boredom from settling in. Unfortunately, he reverted to trying to be the good host instead of addressing the more personalized localized difficulty. A guided tour of the new house hardly dented the time suddenly available before they could eat. Molly winced as John showed Sherlock the bookshelves he had built himself, thinking it might trigger at least a lecture if not full out librarian assault. Fortunately, the medical texts were few and far between and Mary's extensive collection of pop fiction and romance novels seemed to put Sherlock off his usual zeal for being able to pull a quick reference.

Molly was just about to fake a text from Lestrade to send to Sherlock's mobile so they could beat a hasty retreat when Mary called out from the kitchen.

"John. Didn't you get another bottle of burgundy?" Mary stood in the doorway, bottle in hand. "We've only got the one and it's not going to be enough for four."

"Damn." John shook his head. "Sorry, love, I forgot. I'll go and…"

"I'll go." Sherlock already had the closet door open, pulling his coat off the hanger. "There's an Asda not too far away."

John jingled his keys. "We'll take the car. Only take a minute."

"Oh no, you don't!" Mary scrubbed her hands on the kitchen towel. "The last time you two stepped out for 'just a minute', I didn't hear from you for three days!"

John looked embarrassed, Sherlock chagrinned, so Molly chimed in. "Well, they were in Dornoch. Not many mobile phone towers that far north."

"Not much of anything in that part of Scotland." Sherlock added, sotto voce.

"Yet you still found forgers there." Mary laughed. "Look, I'm not going to argue about how important chasing criminals is. I just want one nice sit down dinner with us all to commemorate the new house before the craziness sets in, all right? Please?"

John looked back and forth between his bride and his friend; seeming to play out the possibilities in his mind before dropping the keys back in his pocket. Sherlock shopping alone was chaos, but he couldn't see trapping Molly as the only available referee. At least not until he was sure Mary forgave Sherlock for the mess over the drinks cooler he had foolishly not checked before bringing it home from Baker Street. Bit not good, and he should have known better.

"I'll return as soon as I can." Sherlock was out the door before Molly could offer to go along.


It wasn't long before Molly excused herself to go to the bathroom. John was nearly running himself ragged, trying to help his wife in the kitchen and still carry on a conversation with his guest. She figured she could make herself absent for a short time just to give the poor man a break.

It was a beautiful bathroom, anyway. A huge enameled cast iron claw footed tub took up an inordinate amount of room, its pale blue shower curtain glowing from the light of the frosted glass window. It made the whole room appear to be some under the sea fantasy. Embroidered towels and those silly mini soaps added to the illusion.

Molly had barely slid the bolt in place when a low sound made her jump. "Why can she never remember I don't drink red wine?"

Trying to slow her hammering heart, she pulled aside the shower curtain, finding Sherlock stretched out in the bottom of the tub, his coat spread out beneath him, his arms folded. The window above still sat ajar.

Yelling at him would only draw unwanted attention. "I thought you gave up bathroom windows when you 'resurrected'. Trying to turn water into wine now?"

He waved dismissively. "I was born via cesarean section. Old habits die hard. Acceptable enough house, but the lack of security is appalling. You'd think John would know better by now."

"Especially since he knows he has to try to keep his best friend out." She perched on the edge of the tub with a sigh.

"He could at least make it a challenge if he doesn't want to bore me." He tugged at her sleeve. "Need to pay attention to something."

"Try impulse control." Molly pulled her arm loose, suspicious of where he seemed to be leading. Trust Sherlock Holmes to finally break his self imposed chastity and go immediately to nearly limitless, though monogamous experimentation. "You promised me you'd behave tonight."

"You asked; I never agreed." He snatched her hand back, rubbing a finger over her wrist. Besides, if memory serves, you don't actually like it when I behave."

She tried to pull away, but warned by the first time, he wouldn't let go. "How would you know? I don't think I've ever seen…"

"Behaving is boring." He pulled her down enough that he could kiss her wrist. He switched tactics as she tried to reclaim her arm. "All right, what should I behave as? A cad? A scoundrel?" He tried to get her to move closer, but she had planted her feet. "How about the big bad wolf?"

"Woof." It slipped out involuntarily, and she knew the battle was lost. She tried to not let it be the war. "You could try gentleman. Might make a nice change."

"Boring!" he reiterated. "And this might be a once in a lifetime opportunity; a bathtub I actually fit in." He tried pouting.

"I'm not getting in there!" She drew out of his orbit, moved to the mirror over the pedestal sink, trying to focus on checking her hair. "My luck, I'd slip and break something; maybe even you. I'm sure we could housesit for them sometime. Fill it up and have a proper bath together." The tub in her flat had proven to be practically a nightmare when they had tried it together, the spigot nearly ruining his back.

He stood and drew up behind her, wrapping his arms around her while his lips trailed down her neck. "Have I told you how much I've come to appreciate skirts? His fingers were already working the buttons on the side of hers loose. "I always thought they were impractical before; too much delicate skin left exposed."

She put her hand over his; a token protest. "You can't stop breaking into things, can you?" Their eyes met in the mirror for a moment and he paused. She knew all it would take was a word and he would stop. Not being able to say the word was entirely on her.

"Not when it makes you blush like that. Far too much incentive." He'd managed enough of a gap to reach through to her skin, his fingers brushing gently down and across the front of her panties. "Speaking of incentives…" he pressed more firmly, smirking at the discovery she was already aroused.

She managed to silence the squeak, but jumped a bit, pushing back against him. "Sherlock, we can't do this here! We'll get caught! If you want to shock John, put a head in his fridge and leave me out of it!" It felt delightful, but was wrong in so many ways.

"Too much fun to have you at the heart of it." He maneuvered under the elastic, moving to her core. "We won't get caught as long as you behave. You keep telling me you know how to not make a scene." A single finger, prodding. "Care to test the theory?"

She tried turning, reaching, but he tightened his grip on her hip, pulling loose from her skirt, then turning her to face him. He was a bit astounded by how quickly her interest had matched his own as she drew him into an immediately deep kiss. Yet another mystery she gifted him with. He'd begun to wonder, maybe even hope that she would be the one enigma he'd never fully know.

He lifted her, perching her on the edge of the sink, silently thanking whoever had chosen the pedestal design as it would hold up to a bit of strain. Working the skirt higher on her thighs wasn't too distracting, but she had to cooperate, work with him to get her underwear off. She was making breathy little moans as he bent to taste her.

A trail of kisses along her inner thigh and he blew a small gust across her heated flesh. Time was becoming an issue, but he'd made a point of discovering the fastest, most potent method of bringing her to the precipice. Unfortunately, in their mutual enthusiasm, his first contact with her dampened folds caused her to spasm, slamming her hips hard enough against the porcelain that he was afraid she'd bruised.

She was pulling him up by the shoulder, and he followed, concerned she'd changed her mind. The thought was cast out as she reached for his belt, pulling it undone even as she pulled him closer. Her eyes were flashing. "I thought we were testing a theory." She moved onto his zipper. "That would require both test subjects."

He gasped sharply as he felt his own briefs no longer an impediment. He smirked against her smile. "I believe that can be arranged." She guided him to her as he kissed her, determined to trap any sounds between them. The risk of being caught was only fun as long as it remained a hypothetical.

He shivered as her warmth enfolded him, the familiar sensation still shockingly new. She astounded him. He had always assumed this level of intimacy would simply mimic solitary release with the added complications of attachments and expectations. Games he'd never felt an interest in or had patience for. She proved him wrong every time.

Oxygen was becoming an issue as their hips moved, first gently, then as the tension grew, with a more frenetic edge. Their lips parted but their eyes locked as her quivering thighs held him close, contracting and loosening as her hands clung desperately at his shirt. Her blazing stare told him deeper than words that she wanted, needed him as much as he wanted and needed her.

He pulled her closer, feverishly pressing his mouth to hers, silencing her moans with his lips. Trying to seduce her here had never been about the risk of getting caught. Somehow she had made him frantic, hungry, and crazed. When he had discovered her acceptance of him, the desire to test the limits of that gift blossomed. A narrow band of calculated risk, designed to never wound her, but that he couldn't help exploring. Trusting in her to let him know if he went too far.

The edge almost there as he pressed his cheek to hers, willing them both to a silence he wanted to shatter. He whispered her name, so softly it was more felt than heard as they neared their high. Her nails found momentary purchase against his back as his fingers dug deeply into her hips, hearts racing without a sound.

They were still clinging together, motionless but for trying to regain their breath when the stillness was broken by a deep buzzing sound. The thickness of his coat pocket muffled the mobile's vibrations, but the iron of the tub acted as an amplifier.

Her blush was glorious as he pulled away to lift the coat free, both of them trying to not giggle as they righted clothing, tried to restore the bathroom to its innocent appearance.

He leaned close. "Don't forget to flush and run the tap. John's not quite that oblivious." A quick brush of lips to cheek as he was already reaching for the window sill.

"You know I'm going to get my revenge?" She asked, amazed that he could get his long legs out the window frame so fast.

He smirked. "Looking forward to it." He pushed backward, dropping the few feet to the ground.

She leaned out. "Maybe you'll have to throw the next party!"

He shrugged, pulling on his gloves. "Not until you move in. John and Mary would never believe I'd do it on my own." Sherlock flashed a small smile, disappearing around the side of the house.

Molly sat on the edge of the tub with a bit of a thump. After a moment, she snorted a laugh. Only that infuriating man would deliver such a backhanded way of inviting her to move in with him!