Author's Note - A followup to Tryptych. Polyamory, NSFW, noncon role play. Don't like, read no further. Part one of three.

Molly read the note, read it again, and huffed in amusement. So Sherlock and John 'requested' her presence up in John's old bedroom, did they? And 'requested' that she first change into the outfit provided for her? Well, Molly Hooper was nothing if not adventurous; her willingness to enter into a polyamorous relationship with two men certainly proved that much!

When she opened the box laid across the center of the bed, she gasped at the sight of the gorgeous Regency-era gown that greeted her. Beautiful as it was, however, it did not escape her notice that it was also a bit on the flimsy side – although not due to being cheaply constructed, since the fabric felt and looked very much like real silk! No, it was much more likely so that the gown would be easier to put on than the real thing would have been…and conversely, easier to remove. The sleeves were short, barely covering her shoulders. Even so that was still accurate to the period, as was the scooped neckline that she could tell would ride quite low on her chest. The most interesting part of it was the way the sleeves were attached to the bodice of the gown by a series of hooks and eyes, rather than being properly sewn, as if they, too, had been designed for ease of removal.

Which made sense if tonight was going to be about what Molly hoped it would be about…

She felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest; clearly her boys had some sort of role play in mind for this evening's romantic activities, but aside from that her mind was a blank. She'd never expressed a particular interest in the early 19th century, the period from which the dress clearly dated – which meant it must be one of Sherlock's fantasies they were indulging! Him and his fascination with pirates, oh, this could be fun!

She quickly discarded her work clothing, not bothering to replace her knickers since the dress came with a pair of semi-period appropriate underdrawers in the form of a sheer white chemise and matching knee-length knickers through which her dark pubic hair was very visible when she reviewed herself in the mirror. She quickly donned the accompanying gown – a lovely rose pink with dark grey trim – then the matching stockings with period-appropriate rose-colored garters for each leg, forearm-length opera gloves (dove grey and so soft against her skin) and a pair of delicate grey slippers.

As she stood admiring herself in the mirror – and debating whether or not to put up her hair or leave it down – a knock came at the bedroom door. She called out, surprised that either Sherlock or John would bother knocking when they'd all seen one another naked, in the midst of changing, everything but using the toilet (sacrosanct in Molly and John's minds, although Sherlock thought nothing of barging in if the door wasn't locked, which it ALWAYS was now, after the unfortunate 'Christ, Sherlock, I'm taking a fucking DUMP here' incident with John). "Come in?"

The door opened, and John poked his head in, his eyes lighting up as he saw that Molly was fully dressed in the clothing that had been provided. She gave a little spin to show him the full effect, and his grin widened appreciatively before he stepped into the room and schooled his expression into one a bit gruffer.

She started to examine his clothing, trying to get a further clue as to what he and Sherlock might have in store for her, but was immediately distracted by the short length of rope he was holding in his hands, along with a strip of fabric that could either be used as a blindfold – or a gag. "John?" Molly asked uncertainly, once again meeting his eyes.

The smile made a return, a reassuring one this time. "Sherlock said to tell you there's a safeword – fishnet – and for you to use it if anything we do makes you uncomfortable." He cleared his throat, a slight flush on his features as he continued. "He also said this was something that you wanted but were afraid to ask for, and to tell you that he's looking forward to it. And if it really is something you want and he's not just pulling deductions out of his arse," he added with a sardonic lift of the lips, "then I'm all in as well. But if it's not, just say the word – the word being fishnet, of course – and it's off." That last was said firmly, with a shift of the eyes upward that spoke volumes to Molly. John was not sure that this – whatever it was – was actually something she wanted, and was going to make damned sure that Sherlock didn't cross any lines.

Not that the three of them had many lines left to cross, after nearly a year of living together as romantic partners, but it was touching to know that John was looking out for her. She loved them both so much; how had she ever gotten so lucky?

It was exciting, however, to suddenly realize what Sherlock must have in mind. The odd sleeves on her gown, coupled with the rope in John's hands and the blindfold (or gag)... A night featuring her secret fantasy, then, not his... She felt herself flushing hot and then cold, face flooding with color at the thought of one of her darkest, most secret fantasies being deduced by one of her lovers…how had he known? And no wonder John was dubious; what woman in this day and age would admit to wanting such a forbidden thing? And if she did go through with it, would either of them think less of her for it – well, no, of course not, she silently scolded herself as she finally took in the details of John's costume. He was barefoot, wearing a pair of ragged cut-off canvas trousers tied at the waist with a piece of rope that appeared to match the length he was still holding in one hand, and a striped sailor's shirt, tight, short-sleeved, collarless and utterly delicious looking on him.

If John had any serious misgivings, he wouldn't have gone even this far. He'd have asked Molly directly, before changing or waiting for her to change. So no, he wouldn't think less of her, nor would Sherlock. And it was no one else's business went on between the three of them in private, she reminded herself even as she felt her hands trembling a bit with excitement and a tiny flush of shame – after all, a rape fantasy didn't mean she endorsed rape in the real world. She'd seen enough murdered women – and a few men – on her morgue slabs to recognize the difference between fantasy and reality, thank you very much! No, outside of whatever scenario Sherlock had cooked up for the three of them tonight, she understood very clearly the difference between reality and fantasy. And her two lovely men did as well, she knew that from seeing their reactions when they'd dealt with cases where rape had been involved.

But then, that was one of the defining things about sexual fantasies; what disgusted you in the real world, could turn you on in the bedroom. And all three of them said and did absolutely filthy things with one another when in private they would never even consider doing or saying in public, and…and John was staring at her in concern while her mind wandered down Justification Lane and Repressed Desire Avenue and she suspected the question he was about to ask before the words left his lips. "Molly? Are you sure? Have you changed your mind, or did Sherlock just make all this up?" His expression lowered into one of near anger as he muttered, "If he did, I will bloody well rip him a new one!"

He started to drop the rope he was still holding when Molly rushed forward and grabbed it, placing it back into his hand and wrapping his fingers around it, placing a reassuring kiss on his lips as she did so. "No, John, it's true, it's something I've always wanted…well, ever since I started reading my Mum's old romance novels on the sly, anyway," she confessed with a guilty smile. "I was thirteen, that's a pretty impressionable age, I guess. So the idea of…this sort of thing…being romantic, well, it's never entirely left my mind no matter how untrue I know it to be in real life. But this, it's just us, the three of us, yeah? No one else's business but ours." She bit her lip and lowered her eyes as her cheeks burned. "So why don't you get busy tying me up, Mr. Pirate," she said in a husky voice as she raised her gloved wrists and placed them closely side by side. "We wouldn't want to keep the captain waiting!"

"Say the safe word, Molly," John instructed her before moving so much as an inch, although his expression had eased up quite a bit as she spoke. She obediently repeated 'fishnet' and promised to use it if she felt uncomfortable…and did her best to school her expression into one of pseudo-fear as John secured her wrists together, then tied the strip of soft, dark fabric around her head, blindfolding her.

She bit her lip to keep from giggling with excitement as John, firmly in character, jerked on the rope and hauled his 'captive' up the stairs to his former bedroom. That room now served as a combination catch-all and extra storage for their clothes, and she couldn't wait to see how her lovers had transformed it to suit the fantasy they were about to live out. Because Sherlock was nothing if not a stickler for detail.

"Look lively, Mr. Watson," she heard him snap out as John shoved her (gently, with no real force behind it) through the door he'd just opened. "Does the wench know the word?"

"Aye," came John's gruff reply. Clearly he was relishing the role playing as much as Molly was – and as much as she hoped Sherlock was as well. "Say it for the cap'n, woman," he said, giving Molly's arm a shake.

"F-fishnet," she stammered out, pretending to a terror she was far from feeling, although her heart was pounding in her chest as if it sought escape. "The word is fishnet," she repeated, more firmly this time.

She heard footsteps, and remained still, her bound hands in front of her, as Sherlock walked up to her and yanked the blindfold off her face. John had tied it tightly enough to remain in place, but not so tightly that it hurt when Sherlock pulled it off and dropped it disdainfully to the floor.

Both men remained silent as they allowed her to take in the sight of the extra room, which had been, as she'd anticipated, rearranged into the semblance of a ship's deck. There were canvas sails and netting and even rigging set up here and there, camouflaging the storage bins and extra furnishings – all but her old wooden wardrobe, used now for seasonal clothing storage, an old trunk once belonging to John's grandmother, and her former bed, which had apparently been reassembled just for this endeavor.

She almost broke character to express her admiration for all the hard work her lovers had put into the setting, but a sharp glance from Sherlock reminded her of the role she was currently playing, and instead she asked, in a quavering voice, what they intended to do with her. "My father is rich," she improvised as she raised imploring eyes to meet Sherlock's – which had gone very cold and very, very blue, making the tiny amber flecks seem even brighter by comparison. He was decked out in a very authentic looking outfit consisting of a white long-sleeved shirt open at the collar, black vest, tight black leather trousers and knee-high black boots. A black tri-cornered hat sat at a rakish angle atop his curls, and he held a riding crop in one black leather-clad hand.

Molly thought her knees might collapse at the delicious sight of him, but she managed to remain standing, in part due to John's continued presence at her side, one hand firmly on her shoulder. When she spared a glance at him, he leered at her and made a kissy face, which she pretended to recoil from as Sherlock grasped her face in his hand, forcing her to meet his icy gaze. "Don't lie to me, Miss Hooper," he said, his voice as cold as his expression. "Your father is a merchant, but he's hardly wealthy. No, you're not worth the bother of ransoming. My first mate and I have...other uses to which we wish to put you."

"Please, sir," she said in a quavering voice, then bit her lip hard to keep from smiling as she felt John's free hand caressing her backside, his lips pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses to the side of her neck. She pretended to wince and try to free herself from him, but his grip on her shoulder and Sherlock's on her chin kept her firmly in place.

"Please what, wench?" Sherlock asked, lips curling in a sardonic smile. "Please kiss you? Why yes, I do believe I will."

Then he leaned down and crushed his lips against hers, forcing his tongue between her lips and giving her no opportunity to try and turn her head to escape the punishing kiss.

Molly felt positively dizzy as pure sexual pleasure shuddered through her body, her thoughts going hazy as 'First Mate' John shoved her dress up over her hips and tugged at the drawstring holding her old-fashioned knickers in place. They slithered down her legs, but instead of kicking them aside as she would under normal circumstances, she remained firmly in character, moaning out a protest and pressing her thighs tightly together as John stroked his fingers through the coarse hair of her pubic mound.

"Oho, we've a fighter on our hands, cap'n!" he crowed as Molly struggled lightly against their mutual grasps – and then a bit harder, enjoying every second of it as Sherlock released his grip on her chin and yanked her by the arms until her chest mashed up against his. At the same time, John nimbly undid the buttons that ran up the back of her gown. She shivered at the touch of his fingers against the delicate fabric of the chemise, then gasped as he took it in his hands and wrenched it apart, tearing a long rip down the back of it and exposing her bare flesh to the air.

I hope it wasn't a rental costume, Molly found herself thinking with a semi-hysterical internal giggle before her mind became wholly occupied with the scenario John and Sherlock had concocted for her. John was still behind her, pressing a series of urgent kisses along her spine, while Sherlock was fondling her breasts through the loose material of the dress that hung half-off her body. "Oh, please, please don't hurt me," she found herself begging breathlessly, while her eyes no doubt told Sherlock she meant exactly the opposite of what her mouth was saying.

Not that she wanted to be hurt, of course, but a little roughness, now that she could get into. She let out a whimper of pleasure (disguised as one of terror) as she was forced onto her knees, her dress and the torn chemise removed and tossed aside so that she knelt between her two 'pirates' almost completely nude (the underdrawers remaining tangled around her ankles), hands still bound before her.

Then her thoughts flew completely out the window at the sight of Sherlock's hands busily undoing the buttons to his trousers, quickly hauling his completely hard prick out and fondling it while she took in the sight. Her mouth went a bit dry, and she bit her lip in anticipation of his next move.

Sure enough, he leered down at her, pressing the thumb of his free hand onto her lower lip and easing her mouth open. "Do be a good girl, Miss Hooper, and demonstrate your...lingual...skills for me, hmm?"

John had knelt down behind her and was fondling her breasts, his movements rougher and more impatient than usual. Her nipples had already stiffened into tight little nubs, but when he pinched them while at the same time sucking hungrily at her neck, she groaned and rubbed her backside against his erection, which felt to be just as hard and lovely as Sherlock's looked.

"Stay in character Molly," John groaned against her skin, pinching her nipples and nipping at her neck in chastisement. She responded to the intoxicating stimulation by grinding herself even harder against him, and he groaned again, leaning his forehead against her shoulder. "Christ, you're killing me, woman!" he muttered.

"Sounds like our new plaything needs a lesson in following the rules," Sherlock rumbled in response to the byplay between his two kneeling lovers. He reached down and yanked Molly's hair at the nape of her neck, forcing her head upwards. His gloved thumb was still on her lower lip, and the movement caused her to automatically open her mouth, into which he thrust the tip of his cock. "Take it in, Miss Hooper," he growled as she bobbed her head forward, anticipating his command and eager to do as he wanted. 'Punishment,' indeed! Nothing like being 'forced' to do one of your favorite activities...

She heard Sherlock attempt to stifle a groan of pleasure as she took in as much of his cock as she could, laving her tongue against the hard length before getting down to business. She'd never sucked anyone off without the use of her hands before, which made it incredibly awkward. Frustrated, she raised her bound hands up and grasped the base of his cock, causing Sherlock to gasp aloud and mutter, "Christ, Molly! John's right, stay in character!" before easing her hands back down. "Mr. Watson!" he snapped, once again back in character as he glared down at the other man. "This wench needs a further lesson in obedience!" He nodded toward the discarded riding crop, lying on the floor near his feet. "Four lashes across the buttocks should do it!"

John reached over and grabbed the crop, leering at Molly's widened eyes (mouth still busy sucking Sherlock's cock, of course) and caressing the prop across her cheek before lowering it to her backside and delivering the required strokes after a brief hesitation (not doubt in case she chose to use her safeword).

Molly flinched under each blow, but never once lost her oral grip on Sherlock's cock. She shut her eyes tightly against the prickle of tears (well, it had hurt!); she'd never been one for more than a sharp slap across the bum during sex before, but couldn't deny how absolutely wet she'd become as each blow landed. Especially once she felt John's lips moving across the burning red strips now decorating her arse cheeks, his tongue caressing the length of the marks and bringing a moan of desire from her lips.

The sensation must have been quite pleasurable to Sherlock, who sucked in a breath and suddenly pulled Molly's head away from his cock. "Enough of that," he said briskly, hauling her to her feet and snapping his fingers to indicate that John should rise as well. His breathing, however, was far from steady, and Molly had to lower her head to hide her self-satisfied smirk.

If she thought Sherlock had missed her most recent reactions, however, she was proven wrong as he bent his head to hers and murmured, "You promise to use the safeword if we go too far, Molly, right?" Then he reached over and tenderly wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Don't worry," she murmured back, since out of character vocalization seemed best suited for such a tone. "I promise." She flashed him a quick smile, replacing it immediately with an expression of faux-fear as Sherlock started tugging her by her bound hands in the direction of the bed. "Wh-where are you taking me now?" she gasped, pulling away from him and flicking her eyes down toward her ankles, where her knickers still pooled.

John followed her glance, grinned crookedly and knelt back down to pull them roughly off her body, removing her shoes at the same time. "Won't be needin' those where we're goin'," he said, leering at her as he stroked the riding crop down her side, eliciting a delicious shiver that she pretended was one of revulsion. He left the stockings on, however, and Molly felt a sense of incredible power, knowing that, even with her wrists bound, she was still the one in control here. One word and this would be over, her two lovers left aching for her, frustrated and most likely begging for release.

And she absolutely loved it.

Molly continued to struggle lightly against Sherlock's grasp as he pulled her toward the narrow bed that had once been hers. There was a mound of pillows at the headboard, which John hustled to discard while Molly watched in some confusion. Sherlock halted their forward progress in order press a few kisses to the back and sides of her neck, moving her hair so that it rested over left shoulder, neatly covering her breast. Once John had left only a single pillow, Molly's eyes widened in delight as she saw what they had apparently been piled up to conceal: a rather prominent hook had been screwed into the wood (forever ruining it, but really, she couldn't possibly care less about a stupid piece of Ikea furniture she'd owned for ten years), centered precisely in the middle. She almost told Sherlock how absolutely brilliant he was, but thought better of it when he his hands tightened warningly on her hips and he nipped at her neck much the way John had only moment earlier.

She struggled gleefully as John hopped off the bed and turned to grin at her. Breaking character himself (not that she could blame him), he pressed himself against her body and covered Sherlock's hands where they still rested on her hips with his own. He gave Molly a hard kiss, then Sherlock, who tutted but otherwise made no complaint at what must surely be a deviation from the script. Molly took advantage of John's position in front of her to stroke his erection, cupping his balls and grinning as he choked back a moan of pleasure at her touch.

"She's doing it again," John complained, although the grin hovering over his lips showed exactly how not-upset he was at the turn of events.

"Well, then, Mr. Watson," Sherlock replied in a low, velvety purr that sent a veritable barrage of shivers down Molly's spine and straight to her core, "perhaps it's time we removed temptation altogether, hmm?"

John pulled away, watching avidly as Sherlock lifted Molly into his arms. She struggled lightly against his hold, biting back a grin of her own as he carried her the few remaining feet to the bed. Once there he laid her down, John joining them to pretend to hold down her ankles while Sherlock straddled her, raised her arms up over her head and secured the rope to the hook. A little experimentation told Molly she could easily free herself if she so desired, but since she had no such desire she simply let out a moan of ostensible fright as she begged them once again not to hurt her. She made sure that the last word to leave her lips was a breathy "Please," drawing out the ess and turning her head away when Sherlock lowered his face closer to hers.

"She said please, Mr. Watson," he said in a conversational tone, his breath warm on her cheek as he stretched out on her right side.

"That she did, Cap'n," John replied, moving to take up the same position on her left. "Please what, d'you think?"

"Mmm, please suck my tits, would be my guess," Sherlock replied. He knew her so well; she turned to meet his gaze, seeing the impish smile on his lips as his head lowered until his lips just grazed the tip of her breast. As usual, he knew exactly what Molly wanted; she loved the feel of both men's mouths on her breasts at the same time and could hardly contain a squeak of pleasure as John and Sherlock commenced teasing her with their tongues and lips and (occasionally) teeth.

It was all designed to bring Molly to a state of delirious bliss, and she gave up any pretence at struggling as she felt John's hand slide down to her core, dipping one finger between her folds before gliding it softly up to rest against her clit. "Please," she gasped out, eyes fluttering shut as she arched into John's touch. "Please, please, please…"

"Oh, she begs so prettily," Sherlock murmured against her breast. "Shall we give the lass what she wants, Mr. Watson?"

"Aye," John mumbled, his mouth still busy on her left breast. He gave the nipple one last, sucking kiss before moving down to rest between Molly's legs, hoisting them over his shoulders and giving her a positively devilish grin before lowering his head and placing it where his hand had just been.

Sherlock swallowed her moans as he swooped in for a demanding kiss, tongues wrestling in an urgent duet. His hands were on her breasts, ceaselessly moving; kneading them, pinching the nipples, stroking the undersides while she writhed under his and John's combined ministrations. Her eyes had snapped shut as soon as John's tongue descended to her cunt, working her into a frenzy as Sherlock continued to kiss and fondle her. After a moment he moved his mouth back to her breasts, suckling each nipple in turn, one hand lowered to rest on John's head as he began speaking, a delicious stream of filth and encouragement that made Molly moan and gasp, bucking her hips against John's mouth with every word. "God, Molly, your breasts, they're fucking perfect, have I ever told you that? Mmm, yes, arch your back again, just like that…I know you love John's mouth on you, God knows I do, he's fucking amazing, isn't he? Would you like that next, hmm? To watch John go down on me, suck me off and let me come all over you? Or would you rather I fucked you while he lets you suck him off, you're rather talented yourself, didn't mean to slight you, hope you didn't take it that way…"

Molly came with a strangled shout, her body rigid and arms aching from being restrained for so long. John sat up on his heels, gazing down at her with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips as she opened her eyes and gave him a rather dazed-looking smile of her own. "Tastes fantastic, Cap'n," he said, still somehow in character – ooh, she couldn't wait to fuck that ability right out of him – and turned his smirk on Sherlock. Their lover sat up abruptly and pulled John to him for a lingering kiss, tasting Molly's musk and making appreciative noises the entire time.

Molly took the opportunity to slip her arms free of the hook, then nudged Sherlock with her knee. "Time to bring out the fishnets, I think," she said cheerfully. She held her bound wrists up for him. "Starting to lose feeling a bit."

"Fuck! Sorry!" John scrambled out of Sherlock's embrace and knelt over Molly, nimbly undoing the knots he'd tied earlier. Then he removed the gloves and examined her wrists, back in doctor-mode, grumbling at her for not saying something sooner. "Shit, Molly, people are going to think you were taken hostage," he said, eyeing the red ligature marks in dismay.

"It's winter, John, I'll have on long sleeves and a jumper under my lab coat," she reminded him, then pulled him down to drop a gentle kiss on his lips. "Stop worrying." She giggled. "I'd be more concerned about the state of my arse than my wrists; thank God no one will be seeing that other than you two!"

Then nothing would do except for her to roll over to lie on her stomach so he could make sure he hadn't done any lasting damage to her buttocks, castigating himself for getting too deeply into the role. Sherlock huffed and told him to stop fretting, that Molly was clearly unharmed and oh, my, wasn't that a lovely position she'd taken up? Perhaps John could offer up his penitence by shagging her silly, the way she clearly wanted him to…

In the end he did exactly that, hauling Molly to her knees and sinking his cock deep inside her. As he did so Sherlock eased his way beneath their joined bodies, positioning himself so that Molly could easily take him into her mouth, which she did with no small amount of enthusiasm. Being able – and allowed! – to use her hands made a huge difference. He groaned and thrust his hips upward as she set to work, and Molly hummed her approval as she felt John's hands on her hips as he increased his movements, pounding against her rhythmically. She loved him taking her from behind like this, whether she was sucking Sherlock's cock as she was now or whether Sherlock was behind John, fucking him just as hard as John was fucking her.

The mental picture that conjured easily brought Molly to orgasm; she slipped her mouth from Sherlock's cock and cried out as she bucked her hips wildly, greedy for John to keep fucking her through the aftershocks. He eased up only when she shuddered and lowered her head to Sherlock's stomach, gasping for breath and nearly limp in the aftermath. "Don't stop now," she said when she regained the breath to speak, shooting John a wicked look over her shoulder as she fisted Sherlock's dick and ran her thumb over its glistening head. "You've got me where you want me, don't you, 'First Mate'?"

He responded to her words with a rumble of laughter and the resumption of his movements against her body. She slipped her mouth down over Sherlock's dick and began sucking him off in earnest, determined that the three of them would reach their respective orgasms within minutes of one another – and rather hoping for a repeat performance on her own part, which was not unheard of under such delicious circumstances.

Sure enough, a few minutes later John was shouting and thrusting wildly against her, Sherlock was making strangled noises and jutting his own hips upward into her mouth, and she found herself in the delirious position of being filled by both men at virtually the same instant. Her own orgasm, alas, was not to be, but since she'd already had two she consoled herself that it was wrong to be greedy…and then squealed with surprised laughter as John pulled away and Sherlock flipped her on her back and lowered his head between her legs.

The first time he'd gone down on her immediately after John had come inside her had seemed so wrong, so filthy and downright unclean that she'd almost pushed him off her, but now…she loved it. Oh, she wouldn't be writing anything about it in her diary or blog, but in the moment? It was exactly what she needed to bring her over the edge, feeling Sherlock's tongue lapping eagerly at the cum dribbling out of her pussy, knowing that he loved the taste of her and John's combined juices – and wasn't afraid to say so, even outside of the bedroom, which had turned both John and Molly into blushing, stuttering messes the few times he'd done so.

She wasn't blushing or stammering now, though, as John laid down next to her and gave her a deep, loving kiss. She nipped at his lower lip and urged him to move one hand down, to rub his finger against her clit while Sherlock continued to lick her pussy with an eagerness that still caught her by surprise now and again. Even though the three of them had been together nearly a year she still had moments of disbelief that she and John and Sherlock Holmes were romantically involved, that they were having sex with one another in varying combinations…that Sherlock actually wanted her and that she was living out her deepest, darkest fantasies while at the same time living much the same life she had been before. Working at St. Bart's, helping Sherlock and John with cases, taking care of her cat and meeting her friends for drinks, going to the cinema…it was surreal, that was the word, but she'd take it.

Sherlock chose that moment to shove his tongue deep inside her, and she groaned against John's mouth, knowing it was the consulting detective's way of letting her know that he realized she'd allowed herself to get a bit out of the moment – and to remind her why the moment wasn't one she wanted to miss.

A few more deep thrusts of his tongue and Molly felt the familiar surge of energy, rising, spiraling through her, and she pulled her mouth away from John's, gasping and crying out as his finger rubbed her clit exactly the way she needed it to while Sherlock's mouth moved against her slick folds, his tongue stabbing deep inside her. She wailed and thrashed and came hard, riding Sherlock's mouth and holding onto John for dear life until finally going completely limp beneath the two of them.

She was vaguely aware that Sherlock had crawled back up and was now comfortably resting his head on her chest while John eased himself onto his side next to her, his arm across her middle and his hand on Sherlock's hip. She felt comfortably cocooned, warm and satiated and loved.

"Mmm," she said after a minute, knowing she was about to drift off to sleep but wanting to let her lovers know just how much she appreciated everything they'd done for her this evening. "You two, you are the most amazing men I've ever known, I don't think I tell you that enough. I love you both, thank you, thank you so much…"

She was silenced by first Sherlock and then John's lips pressed against hers. "Don't be daft, we love doing things for you," John murmured, sounding just as sleepy as she did. "Don't we, Sherlock."

"Of course," he replied. "Do stop undervaluing yourself, Molly, you know we love you."

She and John both went very still at his words. Yes, Molly knew that Sherlock felt…something…for her and John, but to call it love like that? He'd never used the word in this context before, and Molly felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Sherlock huffed impatiently, but his hand was gentle as he brushed the tears away. "Yes, Molly, I love you. I love you, too," he added, looking directly at John. "Just because I don't say it doesn't mean I don't feel it. Do try to keep up you two!" The last was said gruffly, but there was no mistaking the glint of real emotion in his eyes.

"We love you too," John said, his own voice suspiciously rough. "Now let's get under the covers and get some sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah," Molly agreed. Sleep sounded wonderful, and she knew she'd have sweet dreams after the evening's activities…and the three words Sherlock had finally spoken to her and John.

More than one fantasy had finally come true tonight.

Author's Note: Next up, John's fantasy