It was the last week of January when Sherlock got a strange text from Greg Lestrade.

"Hey, Sherlock. Do you and Molly have anything going on this Sunday night? It's not a case, but it will be a late night."

"What do you make of this?" Sherlock asked, showing Molly the text.

Molly was curled up on the sofa, wearing Sherlock's blue dressing gown. It wasn't really his anymore though, because her own dressing gown was not big enough to cover her expanding girth. Therefore Molly had commandeered it for her own use. She loved the way it retained his scent, it was comforting. Looking away from reading a Barbara Cartland novel, one of Sherlock's Christmas gifts to her because he knew she enjoyed the author's historical romances, she read the text and responded with a roll of her eyes, "The best way to find out is to text him back, honey."

"I suppose so. Do we have anything planned for this weekend anyway?"

"Not that I know of."

Sherlock sent off a return text. "Molly and I are free. What did you have in mind?"

The response, quite a lengthy text, came in a few minutes later.

"Well, as you know, my girlfriend, Lori is from the States. She's a big American football fan and wants to watch the Super Bowl on the big screen. Because of the time difference, it's going to be late Sunday night, going into the early hours of Monday. I was wondering if you and Molly might like to enjoy a night of social entertainment with us? It would be nice to catch up away from the workplace again, and Lori and Molly seem to get along pretty nicely. So, how about it, old chap? Wanna live a little?"

Sherlock read the text aloud to Molly, then asked, "Well, what do you think? Fancy a night out?"

Molly thought for a moment, then said, "I do like Lori, she has some fascinating stories to tell about America. Besides, you did just get that offer to go on a late night talk show there. If we decide to go, it might be nice to find out a bit more about the culture there. Also," she added impishly, "I rather like the idea of sitting in a darkened pub with you."

"Mmm, are you giving me the go ahead for a little flirtation while we are there?" He gave her that seductive sidelong glance that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

"I'm sure that's not the reason Greg is inviting us, to flirt and all. But hey, there's only so much time you can spend in conversation before your mind starts to wander - and your hands too." She winked at him.

"Molly, what have I told you about your sexy talk? Better stop now or I won't be able to answer Greg's text."

"Fine," pouted Molly. "Tell him we say yes. He can give us with all the details later."

Sherlock sent off the next text. "Molly is looking forward to seeing Lori again. Just let us know when and where, and we'll be there."

Molly put her book on the coffee table, stood and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's waist. "Done?" she asked.

"Done," he affirmed.

"Good. You know, these romance novels always make me feel...romantic," she purred. "Do you want to practice some flirtation for the pub?"

"My God, woman, you and this pregnancy libido. I can't keep up with you." Despite his words, Molly could feel him pressing up against her as he put his hands in her hair and kissed her. Oh, he most definitely could keep up, judging by the evidence of his body's response to her.

Molly threw her head back, inviting him without words to nuzzle her neck, which of course, he did.

"Oh, my little vixen. Who would have ever believed you could be this way?" he said. "Everyone thinks you're such a good Christian girl."

"Sherlock, I AM a good Christian girl! We're married. Nothing in the Bible says there's any limit to how much you can make love once you're married."

"You do make a persuasive argument, my wife. But before things go too far, I expect you need to use the loo."

"Nope," she replied pertly. "I just went ten minutes ago."

"In that case," he said with a definite gleam in his eye, "shall we have an early night?"

Instead of answering, Molly started to undo the button of his jacket, then his shirt buttons. "Thank goodness you don't have a waistcoat to remove as well this tine," she commented, remembering the re-creation where he had worn a suit like he had worn for John's wedding. "Hey, maybe I should get you to wear jumpers like John, over your shirt. At least that would eliminate the jacket button."

He quirked a brow at her, "Do I really look like the type of man who would be comfortable in a jumper?"

"Perhaps not," she conceded. "Maybe at home you can at least take off the jacket and just wear your shirt."

"I could do that," he agreed. "Let me precipitate this next action." Molly's hands fell away from his shirt as he lifted it, with two buttons still fastened, over and off his body, then tossed it unceremoniously on the ground.

His phone pinged. It was probably Greg sending the details for Sunday night, but neither of them bothered to check, being much too busy with each other.

Molly ran her hands along Sherlock's chest, and he caught his breath. She leaned into his chest, kissing his pectoral muscles and then that tiny scar from the bullet wound. As she did so, she felt him tugging at the belt of her dressing gown, until it opened.

Molly was quite satisfied to hear Sherlock's sharp intake of breath once again.

"Molly, you're not wearing anything underneath the dressing gown!"

Molly lifted her head from where she had been pressing more kisses against his chest. "Tell me something I don't already know," she quipped.

"So, do you mind telling me why you were reading a book on the sofa, and yet you were naked underneath MY dressing gown?"

"What's there to tell? My chemises do not fit me right now, and I don't particularly like the constriction of a bra underneath a dressing gown."

"And the reason for your lack of knickers?" he asked, cupping a possessive hand over one breast, while grasping her hip with his other.

"Uhh..." Molly was having trouble remembering what he was saying. The touch of his hands on her body was as intoxicating as if she had had a few too many drinks. What was he asking her? Oh right, the knickers thing. "I wanted my skin to breathe," she supplied as answer to his question.

Sherlock's lips descended on hers in a very possessive kiss, and she felt her own passion rising within her. She felt Sherlock fumbling to unfasten his trousers and remove them, along with his boxers, as he continued to possess her mouth with hot, fiery kisses.

Her fingers tangled in his hair. "Sherlock," she gasped against his lips, "are you going to take me to the bedroom now?"

He paused in his kissing long enough to say, "Nope!" popping his "p" as usual. "You've tempted me too much. No time to take you to the bedroom, I think I'm just going to take you right here."

He walked her backward so she fell onto the sofa, pulling him down with her. Then she arched her back in invitation to her husband.

Their joining was fiery and passionate, even more-so than usual, as Molly gloried in her husband's caresses.

Afterwards, Sherlock drew her to her feet and held his wife as closely as he could, without pushing too hard against her belly, as they struggled to regain their breath.

Molly heaved out a long, contented sigh. "May I say, Mr. Holmes, you are entirely too good at this?"

He chuckled. "Well, we have been 'practicing' an awful lot, ever since our wedding night. I think we might have made love more than the average couple does in two years. I still have many years to catch up on though, as do you, my angel."

"I thought you said you couldn't keep up with me," said Molly playfully.

"Mmm, I lied. I could never have enough of you," he replied in his deep voice, and Molly giggled.

A few nights later, the couples were sitting at a table in the pub Greg had told them about, ready to watch the screen. The game was due to start at half past eleven, which wasn't far away. Molly was wearing the maternity dress she and Sherlock had purchased together for their recent scenario re-creation. Normally she would not have been wearing a summer dress in winter, but she still hadn't managed to get much in the way of maternity wear, and her clothes were getting uncomfortably tight around her abdomen. Sherlock had provided her with one of his extra Belstaff coats (he had several) which she was still able to button. The pub was very warm due to the great number of people who had come to watch the Super Bowl on the big television screen.

"So, what's this football all about? How do they score?" asked Molly.

Lori launched into an explanation about getting downs and first downs, and touchdowns. It was all very confusing.

"So these guys don't kick the football around? They mainly pass it or throw it?" queried Sherlock, who sounded as lost as Molly.

"Yeah," supplied Greg. "Lori has been trying to explain the game for weeks and I'm still not sure about it all."

Lori laughed and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. "Don't sell yourself short, darlin', you've learned a lot about the game. I'll make a Steelers fan out of you yet. It's too bad they didn't get to the Super Bowl this year. Personally, I hope the Eagles win. I'm so sick of the Patriots winning."

Greg gave her what could only be termed as a totally goofy, head-over-heels smile and patted her knee affectionately. "The Steelers are her favourite team. They're in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania," he explained to the bemused Molly and Sherlock. "The Super Bowl teams this year are the Philadelphia Eagles and the New England Patriots."

Molly leaned close to Sherlock and whispered, "I think our old friend has got it bad for Lori."

"And she him," he whispered back. "Dilated pupils, although that could be the dim lighting. Touching, smiling. Plus she's put up with him for six months. It has to be love."

Molly giggled. "What are you two whispering about?" asked Lestrade, looking a little affronted.

"Private joke," answered Sherlock suavely.

"Well, let's get some drinks before the game starts. Can I get you two something? Lori, my love, what about you?"

"Oh Greg, you know I'm not the best at holding my liquor, but it is the Super Bowl, after all. I'll have a strawberry daiquiri."

"Just water for me, thamks," answered Molly, after Lori had given her preference.

"I guess I'll have a beer," said Sherlock.

"Two beers, a strawberry daiquiri and a water it is!" Greg went over to the bar, which was some distance away. The place was so crowded, the foursome had been forced to sit in a back corner. The huge television screen was still visible of course.

Molly was definitely not averse to being away from the crowd somewhat. Sherlock had become rather a celebrity of late, after solving that big, cross-continental drug ring case that led to many arrests in both England and America. Besides, being in a darkened area with her extremely hot husband was rather nice too.

"Lori, can you give us any tips about America?" Molly asked. "Sherlock and I are trying to decide whether to accept a talk show invitation to go over to Los Angeles at the end of this month"

"Well, I'm a southern girl, so I can't really speak with any authority about people on the west coast, but really, America isn't so different. At least we speak the sane language. Americans also love British accents. I love being here in England but there is one thing I do miss."

"What's that?" asked Molly curiously.

"I miss our big washing machines and dryers. Here you have to do things in small loads, and some things don't get dry properly."

"That's true enough," Molly agreed. "I always have to put my jumpers on the airer afterwards, to dry them properly."

"In America we have huge machines, and our own laundry room where the machine and dryer are housed. Of course, America is much more spread out, for the most part, unless you are in a city like New York."

"Luckily for Molly, I have most of my clothes professionally dry-cleaned," put in Sherlock, "so I don't need to use the washing machine much."

Molly laughed. "Until I came along, you never did any washing anyway! Mrs. Hudson took your underwear to the laundrette for you."

Sherlock smirked. "She insisted on treating me like a son. But I do allow you to wash my underwear now, love."

Molly laughed, "Oh you 'allow' me, do you?" She felt Sherlock squeeze her hand under the table, as if to tell her he was kidding, not that she'd had any doubt of that anyway.

Greg came back with the drinks then, just in time, for the gane was about to start.

Molly tried to pay attention to the game for the first fifteen minutes, but she was totally lost. To her, it just seemed like a bunch of men wearing some kind of armour, trying to push against each other. She looked over at Sherlock. He was looking at her with a faint smile on his face.

The people in the pub, including Lori and Greg, were yelling at the umpires about something on the screen.

"What are you smiling at?" Molly asked Sherlock.

"You," he replied. "You get this adorable look on your face when you are confused, but trying not to show it. You have no clue what is going on, do you?"

"Well, neither do you," she retorted.

"Oh, I agree, my love," he said readily, placing a hand on her knee. "I haven't even been watching. I'd much rather watch you."

His voice held a caressing note that Molly did not miss. She gulped. "This is beginning to feel like when you took me to see the Star Wars movie a few weeks ago."

He moved his hand a little further up her leg. "With one major difference," he said in a low voice next to her ear. "You aren't really interested in the football either."

"Behave yourself," she hissed, and he complied, although he pouted.

She patted his hand which had returned to his lap. "If you behave for awhile I MIGHT let you kiss me later."

"Fine," he huffed, with the pout still evident on his beautiful face.

"I need the loo anyway." She got up from the table and Lori stood too.

"Are you off to the ladies room?" Molly nodded, amused at the American expression, and the bespectacled brunette said, "Oh good. I'll come too."

After the women had availed themselves of the facilities and were standing at the mirror reapplying lipstick, Lori asked, "Do you think Greg really loves me?"

Molly stared at her new friend in surprise. "Of course he does. Any man who goes to such lengths to learn that convoluted game, excuse me if I sound rude because I don't mean to, must be in love with you."

"Oh, I'm glad," Lori said. "It's just, well, he has been rather thoughtful lately, quiet even. I thought maybe he'd gone off me."

"Lori, Greg is as loyal as they come. I suppose you know about his sad history?"

"Yes," There was a hard note in Lori's voice as she said, "That awful ex-wife. How could she cheat on him all the time? And why did he put up with it for so long?"

"Because he's a sweet, honest man. If he's dragging his feet with you, it's only because he's scared of getting hurt again."

"I'd never hurt Greg." Lori's voice was soft and full of sincerity. "He's my silver fox, the man I've waited for my whole life to find, just like you and Sherlock. If we can have a fraction of the happiness I see between you and your husband, I'll be very happy. You two are so devoted to one another, I'm a bit jealous."

Molly was touched at her friend's words. "You will have that happiness too, I'm sure of it," she said singcerely.

When the women returned to the table, there were fresh drinks awaiting them, courtesy of Sherlock.

"You were gone an unconscionably long time," he muttered to Molly. "I had to spend the whole time listening to Lestrade talk about how much he loves Lori."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I would think you'd be glad of that. There was a time when you were worried that Greg had a crush on me. You were quite territorial around him as I recall." Seeing that people's eyes were fixed on the game, including the friends across from them, Molly used the opportunity to give her husband a quick kiss on the lips.

Before she could move away, he reached a hand behind her head to draw her lips back to his, giving her a long, sensual kiss that made her toes curl and her stomach clench. "Just so you know, wife, I do not plan on remaining here until the end of the game," he said softly, after releasing her. "However, we will stay at least until half-time. Greg has a surprise for Lori."

"Oh, what is it? Please tell me," she begged.

"My lips are sealed." he stated. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Author's note: As a native Australian who moved to America as an adult, it took me years to learn about American football. It was incomprehensible to me for a long time, although now I can converse on the topic quite well.

The character of Lori (who was introduced in my main multi-chapter story "A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage" ) was written especially for my faithful reader ellemichelleP. The Super Bowl idea is hers, so this is for her. Thanks for the idea.

What is Sherlock keeping from Molly? Any thoughts?

Edited for corrections and better flow 6/25/18