Written in conjunction with the lovely and talented asteraceaeblue and based on this segment of Elle Magazine's recent interview with Benedict Cumberbatch regarding Sherlock and sex:

ELLE UK: What do you think Sherlock would be like in bed? How would you play a love scene as Sherlock?

BC: Oooh… You know I'd get the, I'd probably test the latex, if it involved prophylactics, beforehand.

BC: I'd do a little experiment to do with durability, length, girth, and um, strength. And um, I would probably take a lot of vitamin supplements to make sure that I could perform, and had had my sleep, and probably not had many cigarettes. Or drink, for that matter. Not that he does drink.

ELLE UK: You see. Proficient, but lacking enthusiasm.

BC: Yeah, no wait for it. I would probably watch a lot of porn…

BC: I might have to shave, um, areas to fit in with a modern idea of bodily hair.

BC: And then I would be devastating. I'd know exactly how to please a woman, I'd know exactly where to put my fingers, where to put my tongue, where to put my – his I should say – his fingers, his tongue. Think about violinists, think about what they can do with their fingers.

BC: And I'd know exactly how to get that person into it, and get pleasure out of making that person feel pleasure to the point that I probably wouldn't even have to enter…

BC: But when I did it would be explosive.

ELLE UK: But does he ever lose control?

BC: So in sex, would he lose control? I think to have really good sex he would probably have to.

ELLE UK: So he'd decide to lose control. He'd make a controlled decision?

BC: This is a very dark alley we're going down. No pun intended. Um, Yeah. Yeah. If it was necessary yes, yes. Very much so.

It started out innocently enough; Molly wore a short, summery skirt made of some lightweight, gauzy fabric to work, with a sleeveless yellow blouse over it, and her white lab coat over the entire outfit. She had her hair parted on the side and worn in a loose braid over her right shoulder, with just the right amount of soft pink lipstick on her mouth as she smiled a greeting to Sherlock and took a seat beside him, at the adjoining microscope. He was studying some soil samples for a case, a four at best but better than the boredom of sitting around his flat, while she chattered on about her cat or her friend Meena, one or the other, and it was as if the proverbial bolt of lightning struck.

Molly. He and Molly. He'd been an idiot, spending all those years pushing her away, believing himself to be better off alone. John's friendship had shown him the error of that way of thinking, Moriarty had entered their lives and opened Sherlock's eyes to Molly's importance even as she told him she didn't matter, that she didn't count…Why had it taken him so long to realize it wasn't just that she mattered, that there was so much more?

Oh, he knew why, and had already noted the main reason: he'd been an idiot. But now…The Moriarty imposter had been dealt with, Sherlock's killing of Magnussen had been pardoned, Mary and John's baby girl had been born (not without some ridiculous drama), there were no inconvenient fiancés or fake girlfriends lurking about, and Sherlock's brain went into a veritable frenzy of deduction.

They were compatible in so many ways, but it was more than that. He hadn't allowed himself to think of Molly as a sexual creature – or himself, for that matter, not for fifteen long years with the sole exception of that unexpectedly carnal night in Karachi four years ago – but now that he was, it was all he could think about. He stared at her, no longer hearing her voice, simply cataloguing all the snippets and facts about her that he'd unconsciously retained. There were so many possibilities, so many avenues to explore with her and potential for stimulation, both mental and physical. His mind whirled with ideas, and he lost all sense of time as he watched the way her lips moved to form her words, her hands moving so elegantly about the equipment, occasionally reaching up to swipe a strand of hair away from her face. Oh yes, the potential for what could exist between them was immense, and now he knew what had to be done.

He rose abruptly to his feet and exited the lab, not noticing Molly's confused stare, too intent on all the plans that had to be set into motion in order for their first sexual encounter to be as close to perfect for the two of them as he could make it.

Research. It was going to take a great deal of research, some on the internet and some no doubt by consulting the one real expert he knew when it came to relations with the opposite sex.

An hour later he was ringing John and Mary's doorbell, fingers tapping impatiently on his thigh and gasping for a smoke. No, no cigarettes, Molly hated the smell, he was just going to have to slap on a few more patches later.

The door opened just as he was about to press the doorbell again, and he smiled at his best friend's puzzled face. "Sherlock? What's up? Got a case?"

"Of sorts," he replied, breezing past John in order to greet Mary and Ellie. His goddaughter was two months old and finally beginning to take an interest in more than sleeping, eating and, presumably, pooping, an activity of hers that he actively avoided having anything to do with. "I need your expertise, John, as I'm about to start a sexual relationship with Molly Hooper. How are you today, Ellie?" he added, not stopping to take a breath while John choked behind him and Mary stared at him wide-eyed. He held out his hands and she allowed him to take the baby, who was cooing and waving her tiny fists in the air. "She's beginning to look a bit more like you, Mary, now that John's firmly bonded and the evolutionary need for her to look like a miniature version of him has presumably passed…"

"Sorry, Sherlock, back up a bit." John had finally moved from where he'd been virtually frozen in place by the front door, gently took his daughter out of Sherlock's arms and handed her back to Mary after placing a kiss on the baby's forehead. "You need my expertise because you're about to do what?"

"Enter a sexual relationship with Molly Hooper," Sherlock repeated, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Honestly, John, what's so difficult to understand about that?"

"So what brought this on, exactly?" Mary intervened with a grin, cuddling Ellie close and swaying a bit to encourage her daughter's already-drooping eyes into closing completely for her long overdue nap. "Sudden epiphany, was it, or did she finally lose patience and snog you in the morgue?"

Sherlock's eyes went a bit unfocused as he processed the idea of Molly doing such a thing…and found that he wouldn't mind in the least if that scenario were ever to play out in reality. "Um, sudden epiphany," he said, very glad that he was still wearing his coat even as he shifted as unobtrusively as possible in order to ease the sudden tightening in his trousers. "But there's a great deal of research for me to do first. It's been fifteen years since I last indulged, aside from one encounter in Kar…anyway," he said hastily, speaking hurriedly to keep John or Mary from pouncing on that little slip, "aside from that one night, I've been focused on the work, as you already know."

"And you're here now, because….?" Mary prompted him when he fell silent, not due to lack of things to say but from an overwhelming quantity of things to say.

"Because I need to consult John 'Three Continents' Watson," he replied, ignoring the huff of annoyance from John's direction and focusing on Mary. "His experiences are not only considerably more recent than my own, but also more numerous and exclusively involving women. Whereas my own experiences..."

"Yes, yes," John cut in hastily. "I get it, thanks, keep the gory details to yourself if you don't mind!"

"Sherlock, I'm guessing you're not looking for John to actually coach you through what happens after you and Molly get your clothes off, are you?" Mary gave her husband a cheeky wink as he sputtered and turned red with embarrassment.

"No, no, of course not," Sherlock said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's more the wooing beforehand, and of course since it's been so long I have only the vaguest inkling of what sorts of things women like these days."

"And you're not asking me about it, why?" Mary asked, still grinning as she walked across the room and laid Ellie down in her portable cot.

Sherlock sighed. Loudly. "Because, Mary, although I don't doubt that your insights would be invaluable, I very much doubt that you and Molly would be interested in the same things. For example, Molly showed a very keen interest when I was whipping a corpse with a riding crop, and my analysis of your relationship with John indicates a distinctly more traditional sort of sexu…"

"Sherlock, for fuck's sake!" John shouted.

Mary shot him a dirty look as Ellie gave a startled wail. John whispered an apology, then turned back to glower at Sherlock as Mary tried to calm their fussing infant. "Sherlock, Mary and I are NOT discussing our sex life with you, or having you deduce it. That topic is off limits, got it?"

Sherlock nodded, looking not at all abashed. "Fine. We'll confine the discussion to my upcoming sex life with Molly."

"You've already talked to her about this, let her know what you want?" Mary interrupted, holding a quieter (but still fussing) Ellie against her shoulder and rubbing soothing circular motions along her back.

Sherlock nodded briskly. "Yes, just now before I came over here." His brow wrinkled; had he, though? Yes, of course he had! "So I'll need your expertise, John, as I already stated, and it would prove helpful if you were to come with me…"

"How?" John interrupted (honestly none of them could seem to get out a full sentence without one of the others interrupting!). "And why should I help you? You've just insulted my private love life after implying that Molly's a kinky bird…"

"I implied no such thing!" Sherlock sounded thoroughly outraged as he (yet again) interrupted John. "A 'kinky bird' is quite frankly an insulting and degrading way to refer to a woman with a healthy interest in exploring alterna…"

"Shush, both of you!" Mary scolded, cuddling Ellie closer. "John, just go with Sherlock. You need to get out of the house; you've barely left my side since Ellie was born. This'll do you good!"

John gave his wife a betrayed look. "Fine," he grumbled, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Let's get this over with, then."

"Bring your laptop, John," Sherlock instructed.

"Why?" John asked, although he moved obediently to fetch it from his desk.

Sherlock just muttered something about research, then stood and jittered impatiently by the door while John stopped to kiss Mary and Ellie goodbye.

"The things I do for you people," John grumbled as he grabbed his keys and opened the front door.

"Oh, and John?" Mary called out. He turned and gave her an inquiring look. "Bring something nice home for us, will you?" she said with a wink.

Blushing with both embarrassment and anticipation, John hurried out to the car and practically dove behind the driver's seat. "Not a bloody word," he cautioned as Sherlock smirked at him from the passenger seat.

oOo

Instead of speaking (blessedly so!) Sherlock whipped out his mobile and started tapping away on the keyboard. After a minute John realized he had no idea where they were going and started to ask.

Sherlock spoke before he'd done more than open his mouth. "To Oxford Street, John. 103."

"That's…that's only about a half hour from Baker Street!" John blurted in surprise. His knowledge of London might not be as encyclopedic as his friend's, but he certainly knew Baker Street and its environs, or at least, he thought he did. What store could they possibly be…

He could feel the blood draining from his face even as he heard Sherlock chuckling. "Yes, John, Harmony. Frankly I'm surprised you never shopped for a gift for Mary there before this. They do have quite the extensive collection of…

"Yes, thanks, I know what they carry!" John bit out, wondering how he'd allowed himself to be roped into this. Sherlock had essentially admitted to not being as much of a virgin as Moriarty seemed to have thought he was – that is to say, not a virgin at all, which John was still trying to process since he'd long believed his friend to be asexual – but for him to be so at ease when heading to a sex shop…the mind boggled. Images of Sherlock and Molly having sex – kinky sex! – kept trying to conjure themselves up from John's all-too-vivid imagination, that same imagination that held him in good stead as a popular blogger but was utterly betraying him now.

His silent struggle with his imagination kept up the entire trip; fortunately Sherlock was too engrossed in his mobile to bother with either conversation or deducing his best friend. When they arrived at Harmony, John had to force himself out of the car, while Sherlock merely hopped out and strolled merrily through the doors.

oOo

Sherlock's gaze skirted over the wall displays of paraphernalia, mentally eliminating everything he knew for certain Molly would never appreciate simply from knowing her general tastes.

Nothing with animal print, she didn't care for it, and nothing neon for that matter. Too gaudy, too distracting from the task at hand. Material choices certainly weren't lacking: leather, metal, silk, feathers, silicone, glass… he was dismayed to admit he had no idea what her preference would be in those departments, nor what the superiority of one product was over another. His head snapped towards the clerk standing nearby.

"What is the failure rate of these items?" he asked.

The clerk gave him a worried look.

"Which items, sir? There are a lot…"

"Any of them."

"And by failure rate you mean…"

Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh.

"Do they break easily, cause injury, malfunction, not pass general safety standards set forth by England, fall short in their intended purpose," he prompted.

"Oh," the clerk said, looking surprised but quickly stepping forward to begin pointing out specific items. "Well these are some of our best sellers. Those over there are very popular with the ladies. I'd stay away from this brand, the reviews aren't great. If you're thinking of any sort of bondage, we have our beginner kit here, along with some guides on safety. Were you looking for anything in particular, or…?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he scanned the choices.

"Not entirely sure. Best go with one of everything. Do you have a trolley?"

"N-no," the clerk stammered in shock. "But we have some baskets."

"Excellent," Sherlock said with a smile, watching as the clerk hurried off to find the baskets. "John, do come make yourself helpful, we'll need extra hands."

"No, thank you," John ground out from his position looking firmly at the floor next to a mannequin dressed in leather and crystals. His face was redder than the silk blindfold wrapped over the mannequin's eyes.

"Oh don't be useless," Sherlock scolded, turning to inspect as display of lubricants as the clerk came back with several baskets. Sherlock picked up a bottle and turned it over, looking at the ingredients. "Now, what extracts do they use to achieve the 'chocolate strawberry' flavor?"

oOo

After a lengthy discussion about the pros and cons of various types of prophylactics – including failure rate, tensile strength, durability, and an especially squirm-inducing debate over the merits of flavored versus pre-lubricated brands – Sherlock and the ever-helpful young clerk made their way over to the counter while John scurried off to pick up something for himself and Mary.

When he returned to the counter, the clerk was busy ringing up the first basket of goods while a young assistant began bagging the purchases with a rather awe-struck expression on her face.

"You're actually going to buy all of….this," John sputtered as he took in the sight of the four overflowing baskets yet to be rung up. He gestured in a vaguely helpless manner and shook his head. Did Sherlock really need seventeen different types of condoms? And what was the point of the plush purple…pillow? Surely it was a pillow, had to be.

His friend nodded brightly. "Of course! I can hardly test out the relative merits of the prophylactics here, and clearly some experimentation is required both before and after Molly and I have…"

"Stop," John said firmly, shaking his head again and briefly squeezing his eyes shut. "Just…stop."

Sherlock shrugged as John opened his eyes again. "I don't understand your sudden squeamishness, John; you've been to war and crime scenes and even watched your wife give birth, so why a collection of merchandise meant to enhance one's sexual enjoyment should put you off is beyond me!"

"What if it puts Molly off?" John could have bit his tongue off for asking such a personal question, but Sherlock had started all of this so the blame could be placed squarely on his shoulders.

"It won't, Molly is an exceptional woman and she knows my methods, John, just as you do. I am methodical and precise when it comes to experimentation and she would expect nothing less from me! And since I don't know exactly what sort of sex Molly enjoys, this way all my bases are covered, as they say in America. I don't know why they say it," he mused while the clerk's lips twitched in suppressed amusement, "but the general meaning is clear."

"Be prepared?" the clerk murmured, and Sherlock beamed at him.

"Exactly! Be prepared!"

What was there to say to something like that? Nothing, John decided. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. He sheepishly put his purchase on the counter after Sherlock had finished paying for his sixteen bags of assorted toys and paraphernalia, handed the clerk his money and then helped Sherlock carry everything out to the car. Once the boot was filled and shut, off they went to Baker Street to unload their pornographic cargo.

As they entered the front door, Sherlock stopped and shoved his bags into John's arms while snatching the big purple pillowy-thing from beneath his arm.

"Sherlock, what the hell?" John grumbled as he stood in the doorway, trying not to drop the myriad bags piled up past his chin and dangling from his rapidly-numbing wrists and fingers. He wanted nothing more than to be inside with the door firmly shut behind them. What if someone saw them, recognized the name boldly emblazoned on the carriers and snapped some pictures to post on the internet? People still assumed he and Sherlock were or at least had been romantic partners as well as crime-solving partners, and he really didn't want that lot of rumors and innuendo to start up again. No matter how funny Mary found it.

The relief of finally getting behind the closed door was quickly replaced by horror when John watched Sherlock march through the foyer towards Mrs. Hudson's door, rapping on it loudly. The idea of sinking through the ground was quickly becoming the best in the world. With nowhere to hide, he simply plastered himself against the wall and prayed without hope that he was unnoticeable as Mrs. Hudson opened her door.

Smiling, Sherlock tossed the pillow slightly and caught it before handing it over to her. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson, I know your hip has been bothering you lately, hopefully this will help."

"Oh, Sherlock, how thoughtful!" She turned the box over in her hands and glanced up at him. "What exactly is a 'Liberator Hipster'?"

"Something for you to try out with the Butcher's beef," Sherlock said with a wink, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed with an intrigued smile. She glanced behind Sherlock and caught sight of John and the bags. "You two been shopping?"

"Molly!" John blurted out, causing Sherlock to give him a look. "He's been shopping for Molly."

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows. "Well I hope you did a little shopping for Mary, dear, that woman deserves a treat. Raising a child isn't easy," she said with an endearing look towards Sherlock.

When she disappeared behind her door, John nodded insistently towards the stairs. "Can this be over now. Please?"

"Certainly, John, I'll just fetch your laptop since your hands are full." Before John could protest Sherlock deftly removed his keys from his jacket pocket and headed back outside, leaving the other man to struggle up the stairs with his burden.

Once inside the flat he dumped the entire double-armful onto Sherlock's bed, deeming the overflowing kitchen table unusable. Turning his back on the entire mess of purchases, he walked out of the room and made every attempt to scrub his mind of the visual of those things on Sherlock's bed. A few moments later, he realized his torment wasn't over.

"What did you do with all of your videos?"

Sherlock's sharp voice greeted him as he walked back into the lounge. He was sitting on the sofa, John's laptop open on the coffee table in front of him, with a look of consternation on his face as he typed rapidly on the keyboard. A man on a mission, obviously.

"What videos?" John asked as he plopped himself down in his chair.

"You know very well what videos," Sherlock said tartly. "I thought I made it very clear why I asked you to help me with this and now you bring me a computer completely void of anything that can be considered informative."

It took him a moment, but John finally caught up with what Sherlock was seeking. His eyes squeezed tightly shut and he grimaced, hoping that when he opened them again he would find out it had all been a bad dream and that he wasn't sitting in Baker Street about to explain why he'd purged his computer of some very specific material.

"Let me explain something to you," he told Sherlock slowly. "Because I know that wooing a woman is about as foreign to you as anything could be. What's in those videos… most women do not want that in real life."

"And that's why you deleted them, because Mary didn't like –"

John flung up a hand to stop that very personal line of conversation.

"Off. Limits. We talked about this," he warned, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. When he saw Sherlock's put out face, he sighed. The poor bastard was truly up a creek and wanted help. "I wasn't about to keep that around with a wife, whom I love very much, and a baby at home."

Sherlock blinked at him, then nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation.

"But if it's not typical of what women want, then why watch it?" he asked, looking genuinely baffled.

John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and pulled a hand over his face.

"Why. Do. You. Think?" he grumbled.

There was nothing but silence from the genius detective for a few seconds.

"Oh. Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed, sitting up a bit straighter and abandoning the laptop. "Well that is rather unfortunate."

"And why is that?"

"Based on my memories of the contents of your computer prior to your marriage, I'd designed some rather specific equations and tests to determine the physical possibilities of some of the acrobatics portrayed, I won't bore you with the details…"

"Thank God."

"Yup," Sherlock said, making a face as he looked down at his phone. "Molly is going to want a reason for why I've been texting her, asking for measurements and weight."

It was John's turn to blink in astonishment at his friend.

"You were trying…"

"To calculate the physics of some of the more interesting positions from those videos given Molly's dimensions, yes."

John hauled himself out of the chair and crossed the room to snatch his laptop from the coffee table, meeting Sherlock's perplexed stare.

"You said you wanted my advice," John said simply. "Here it is. Invite her over. Make her dinner. You, not Mrs. Hudson. Tell her how you feel. Show her your 'lair of love,' and if she likes it…"

"She will. Riding crop, remember?"

"Mm, nope, doing everything I can to forget that," John assured him. "But if you manage to not scare her off, then, Sherlock, do everything you can to keep her, because I will consider you a lucky sodding bastard."

Then he marched out the front door, relieved to be allowed to return to his own home and his own wife and daughter. Next time Sherlock called him, it had better be for a bloody case.