The evening sky was a gorgeous canvas of orange and pink hues, the remnants of the sunset painting the edge of the ocean. From the rooftop of the resort, a cozy, romantic set-up with a breath-taking view, Molly realized she was living in a dream. A fairytale.

How else could she explain her current situation? She was wearing clothes that she never had dreamt of wearing (or being able to afford), eating food that she would never have considered trying, and having a pleasant conversation with two of the last people on earth she expected.

All while sitting next to Sherlock Holmes.

And boy, had it been a bizarre evening thus far. When Sherlock and Molly arrived at dinner, they were escorted to the lone table set up on the roof, the wooden top covered in gorgeous tea lights and exotic flowers. Mandy was wearing a tiny baby blue dress that barely covered an inch of her, and Richard had taken to wearing an "I'm wealthy" outfit of khaki linen pants and a loose, white button down.

Truthfully, Molly had been scared of the potential conversations among the foursome, but everything had gone smoothly. Mandy probed Sherlock for information on their relationship. Sherlock casually mentioned his own wealthy friends and got some much-needed information about Richard's colleagues in Thailand. Molly had inquired about Mandy's burgeoning modeling career.

Even by the second course, things were still delightfully calm. They listened to the ocean, sipping champagne, discussing the world and travel and the food on their plates.

But, as Molly had learned early in her life, all good things came to an end.

"So," Richard began, moving away from a rather long conversation about Sherlock's fictitious time at Eton, "I must say, I've really enjoyed our time together. It's not often that Mandy and I find couples who we feel…" He glanced over at his girlfriend, studying the way she bit her lip, "share our personal interests."

He sipped his glass of champagne and lounged back in his chair, his eyes roaming leisurely between Sherlock and Molly. "Every year, I throw a party at one of my homes. Last year it was at my place in Ibiza. This year I plan to hold it in Phuket,"

Molly watched as Sherlock's shoulders tensed at the mention of the Thai city. Richard continued.

"Mandy and I would love for you two to join." He smiled knowingly and ran his thumb around the edge of his glass, studying the couple, "But, this may not be the sort of party you're used to."

Sherlock tilted his head, watching the man. "Oh? How so?"

Mandy giggled and leaned across the table, uncaring of the way her chest practically spilled out from the top, "It's a sex party!"

Richard chuckled and affectionately kissed his girlfriend's head. "Mandy is rather blunt. I would consider it a celebration of sensuality."

Molly couldn't help the way her mouth fell open. Sherlock, sensing her hesitation, reached over and squeezed her hand. He smiled at Richard.

"We're flattered. I suppose it's something Michelle and I will need to discuss. You know, getting off of work and—"

Richard was quick to interrupt. "You see," He rambled on, his eyes dropping to Molly's chest in a rather obvious manner, "We were inclined to extend an invitation because Mandy mentioned your proclivity for public sex." He glanced back to Sherlock before looking at Molly, his eyes hungry, "Mandy and I were thrilled to hear we weren't alone."

Molly coughed and flushed a deep red. "Yes, erm, Scott and I—"

Sherlock squeezed her hand to stop her speaking. "You aren't alone. Michelle and I enjoy a very healthy sex life." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of Molly's mouth before glancing back to Richard, "When will you be holding your celebration?"

Richard just chuckled. "I appreciate your enthusiasm. But, before we can officially extend an invite, I'm afraid we'll need a sneak peek." He leaned back in his chair and wrapped his arm around Mandy, relaxing as the blonde began to press wet kisses along his neck, "You see, enjoying sex with your wife in private is much different than what we have planned."

"I see." Sherlock responded, watching the two curiously, "What did you—"

"I want to see you please your wife, Scott," Richard was quick to explain, cutting Sherlock off with a grin, "Mandy and I are always partial to dinner and a show."

Molly let out an unidentifiable noise and looked over to Sherlock, who studied Richard with unreadable eyes. After a moment, he glanced back to Molly, his eyes roaming over every inch of her face and body. He let out a terse breath and faced the couple.

"I see. Michelle and I would love to. Unfortunately," He paused but then smirked, "Well, not unfortunately, but she and I went at it like teenagers this afternoon. I imagine she's rather sore."

Molly gulped and nodded quickly. "Extremely sore. Scott is…" She flushed a deep red. "Well, he's got a large cock and he knows how to use it."

At her vulgarity, Richard just smirked and relaxed into Mandy, who had dropped her kisses to his chest. He let out a soft sigh.

"I see. That is a shame." He let his eyes roam over Molly's flushing features before glancing back to Sherlock, "Then you don't need to fuck her. Let's just see you please your wife with your mouth."

Mandy moaned and glanced at the couple. "Oh, yes! Scott, I want to see you eat her out."

Sherlock glanced at Molly, his darkening gaze exploring her features, looking for any sort of hesitation. Instead, Molly stared back, pupils dilated, her lips slightly apart. The detective let out a strangled hiss before looking back to Richard.

"Very well." Sherlock rose to his feet and held out his hand for Molly. She glanced at his hand and swallowed, before hesitantly taking it. He led the pair to a gorgeous and rather wide love seat, which had intimate lights hovering over the space.

Without words, Sherlock lifted her up and gently set her on the surface. As soon as her body hit the cushion, he hovered over her, the pair close enough that the other couple would assume they were kissing or whispering sweet nothings to one another.

"Are you sure this is alright?" He whispered, his eyes flickering between her own and her soft form, hidden beneath the white dress, "You can feign illness. I'll find another way to get his trust."

Molly swallowed and stared into his very blue, very concerned orbs. "No, no, I'm okay," She squeaked out, before licking her lips nervously, "It's been awhile so… If you're okay, then I'm okay."

Sherlock nodded. "Very well."

"Sherlock…" Molly looked away, now unable to meet his gaze, "You're not a virgin, right?"

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "No. And why you lot assume I am is beyond me." Without another word, he pushed away from Molly and dropped to his knees, now leaning between her legs. He pushed the dress up to her hips, his eyes mischievous.

"Now, remember, be careful who you scream for. I'm not me." And then the git smirked before running his hands up her exposed thighs, although pausing at the sight of the baby pink garters. He let out a noise of pain.

Molly leaned up on her elbows to meet his gaze, slightly amused. "What? Didn't expect that from mousy me?"

He growled and pushed her legs apart. "Don't test me, darling. Just sit back and enjoy."

And that's precisely what Molly did. At the initial feeling of Sherlock's tongue on her slit, she let out a throaty noise that even caught her off guard. Within moments her eyes were squeezed shut and her toes were curling in what she could only describe as pure bliss.

His mouth was stunning. His tongue licked and probed every crevice of her cunt, his fingers immediately following suit to find her eager entrance. And by the time his mouth had locked around her clit, sucking generously as his two fingers moved in and out, she was convinced she was seeing stars.

But she desperately wanted to hold two handfuls of soft, curly hair, to feel Sherlock's signature locks tickling her fingers as he dragged her through the throes of passion. But with the gel in his hair, and two eager eyes on them, she was reminded that he wasn't Sherlock. She wasn't Molly.

She opened her eyes, continuing to cry out every time Sherlock's tongue lapped at her dripping cunt, and met the watchful gaze of their dinner companions. The two were enjoying it so much that Molly couldn't even see Mandy, sans the top of the blonde girl's head moving below the surface of the table.

Molly wasn't sure if their display was appalling or enticing.

Based on how it drew a girlish scream from her lips, she was sure it was the latter.

And then Sherlock did what only Sherlock could do, expertly turning her brain to mush with just a warm tongue and two thick fingers. With one final flick of her clit, she was crying out, screaming nonsensical words of passion, her hands squeezing the white dress laying on her stomach, her heels digging into Sherlock's clothed shoulders.

Her back relaxed against the love chair, her breathing sporadic, as Sherlock slowly adjusted her clothing. When she finally met his soft blue eyes, she gulped.

He moved forward and caressed her cheek, his thumb tracing her reddened lips. "You are so beautiful, Molly."

Before she could respond, she heard another groan of pleasure, and with Sherlock, turned to watch their dinner companions. Mandy had reappeared by Richard's side, smirking and rubbing at his chest, her hair askew. The man seemed pleased.

Sherlock cleared his throat and grabbed Molly's hand, slowly approaching the table. He met Richard's gaze. "I expect that was satisfactory, Richard? Will we fit in with your crowd?"

Richard hummed, his eyes playful. "I think so." He glanced at Mandy, pressing a hard kiss to the woman's lips, "I reckon the two of us will be enjoying your company very soon."

The detective coughed. "Yes. Of course."

And then, as if nothing happened, as if Sherlock hadn't just finger fucked one of his dearest friends, as if Mandy hadn't given Richard Blackwell a knob-job under the table, the four returned to their seats, feasting on coconut cake and fresh strawberries.

-x-x-x-

By the time Molly and Sherlock strolled back into their hotel room, Molly holding her sandals in her hands, an uncomfortable silence had settled between the pair. Dessert had been eaten with little excitement, the foursome back to discussing trivial pursuits like the weather and holiday spots.

They had shared another glass of wine before Molly feigned exhaustion, she and Sherlock heading back to the room, cognizant of the way Mandy and Richard were already all over each other the minute they stepped away from the dinner table.

Since then, Molly and Sherlock had yet to speak at all.

What can I say?

Thanks for eating me out? That's the best orgasm I've had ever?

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, studying her cherry red toes. Sherlock shut the door and moved to stand over her. He watched her carefully. As soon as she noticed his focus, she glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

He recognized her confusion and was quick to speak. "That was successful. I expect formal information about his get together tomorrow over breakfast. This is working perfectly."

Sherlock strolled over to his suitcase and began to remove clothes from the bag. Molly stared after him, mouth agape.

How could he possibly be taking this so casually?

"Sherlock," She forced out, before rising to her feet, "You…" She cleared her throat, "You don't expect us to go to their party, right? First of all, I do have a job, so I can't just waltz around the world with you." She coughed and began to rub at her forearms, suddenly freezing cold, "Not to mention, I'm not…"

She let out a terse breath and rambled on. "I'm not joining you at some weird bloody sex party for rich folk!"

He glanced over to Molly and sighed desperately. "Of course not, Molly. A few MI-6 agents will be arriving with Mycroft tomorrow morning to arrest Blackwell at breakfast. The information I nicked from his phone is enough for a warrant. If he gives us the information we want, he may just get off with a slap on the wrist and deportation to Australia." He began to unbutton his top, his words so casual that it set her nerves on edge, "Our flight leaves in the early afternoon."

Molly stared at him, mouth agape. In fact, her brain was having such trouble processing the words that her mouth opened and closed, making her red face look like a bloody fish. After a few moments, she finally found her footing.

"Sorry, what?" She stuttered out, her eyes locked on Sherlock as he neatly folded the shirt he had been wearing and tucked it back into the suitcase.

Sherlock glanced over to her and sighed. "Was I not clear? Blackwell will be—"

Molly began to move towards the man. "Stop talking. You answer this next question and you better be honest." Her hands began to shake as the words escaped her lips. "When did you find out that you had enough evidence to arrest him?"

The detective shut his suitcase and turned to look at her. "Molly—"

"Answer me."

His gaze dropped to the ground. "As you showered before dinner. Mycroft called me."

Molly let out a strangled cry. "Then why did I let you finger me in front of a fucking sixty-year old man and a bloody Instagram model?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and stood up straight. "Molly, I had to keep up our—"

"Stop it." She took another step forward and poked at his bare chest. "You did it because you wanted to, didn't you?"

He coughed. "Molly—"

"Sherlock. Answer me."

He shifted and let out a curse. "Alright, Molly. Would you like me to be honest?"

"Yes!"

He stalked towards her, his eyes wild. "Of course, I wanted to bloody do it. This entire trip you've been like a tumor! You were harmless at the start but now, now you've just—"

She opened her mouth to lash back at him, mainly over the fact that he'd just compared her to cancer, but he wasn't finished, and let her know once he raised his hand.

"It's my turn to speak!" He hissed out, before beginning to pace the room, "You bloody show up wearing practically nothing and then go so far as to prance around the pool deck topless?" He ran his hands down his face and let out a curse, "In case you have forgotten, Molly, I don't have the greatest self-control. I do what I want and when I want."

He stalked towards her, his eyes wild. "And after seeing you, so bloody edible, wandering around in just bits of lace, I had no choice." He let out a strangled noise and hovered over her, "I just had to taste you when given the opportunity."

Molly swallowed and stared at Sherlock, eyes wide. "Oh."

He grunted. "Yes. Oh. Now, if you're so willing, you could kindly allow me an encore of ravaging your cunt with my tongue."

She nodded weakly.

"Yes. I'm willing."

-x-x-x-

It was an evening filled with many firsts. It was the first time that Molly had ever orgasmed more than once. It was the first time she had sex with a man she loved.

In fact, it was the first time she made love.

Oh, but it hadn't been soft or slow or filled with sweet moments of staring into one another's eyes, whispering words of passion into each other's ears.

It had been rough. Hard. The pair went at it like rabbits. Aside from the days of sexual tension built up while on the mission, it was their years of friendship that really helped the bubble burst.

And as Molly had rode his cock, her hips grinding into him with every purr and gasp, she knew she would never be happier. His lips on hers, her hands in his soft curls, his hands leaving bruises along her hips...

Yeah. She could live with this forever.

By the time they had wrapped up their third go around, Sherlock's spend drying between her legs, another silence had captured the room, albeit this one relaxed.

Satiated.

She snuggled into his warm body, her cheek nuzzling into his muscular shoulder. She whimpered and kissed the skin.

"I don't know what you want," She began, her voice soft, her fingers teasingly rubbing his arm, "But my feelings for you have never wavered, Sherlock."

He shifted beneath her and simply sighed. "You know," He began, his deep voice tickling her nerves, "You, John, and Mycroft claim to know me so well, but consistently misjudge my actions."

Sherlock flipped over, now hovering over her body. He met her gaze.

"I do not do things casually. If I'm making love to you Molly, you're mine now." He kissed her softly, his eyes playful, "I do hope that sits well with you."

Molly sniffled and kissed him again. "Gods, you are so aggravating Sherlock."

He made a noise of agreement and began to kiss along her chest.

"My name is Scott. Now hush, wife. Our honeymoon is ending. Let's enjoy the room."

Molly couldn't argue with that.

-x-x-x-

The following morning, Molly couldn't say she wasn't upset watching as Richard was arrested. As Sherlock had explained previously, the man likely wasn't involved in anything directly, but enabled some disgusting behavior from some disgusting people. According to Mycroft, as long as Blackwell played nice and gave them the information they needed, he likely wouldn't be punished more severely than being stuck in his home country of Australia.

But, Molly did feel awful, watching Mandy's normally cheerful features fall in confusion. Once the man was led away, the blonde fell to a chair, staring forward. Molly sat beside her and grabbed her hand.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, unsure of where she was going with her words, "I um… As crazy as it sounds, I know what you're going through. I had an ex-boyfriend who turned out to be a criminal mastermind so… I understand the surprise."

Mandy sighed and shrugged, her face in a permanent frown. "I'm so stupid. I should have assumed he was doing something illegal. He had so much money. And he barely worked! He took phone calls but that was like, all he did."

Molly nodded and rubbed her back. "I should be honest with you. My name isn't Michelle. It's Molly. And my husband, Scott, is actually Sherlock Holmes, a famous detective. And he's not my husband."

Mandy blinked and glanced between Sherlock, who was speaking intensely with Mycroft and a few MI-6 agents, and then Molly. "Um, what? You two aren't married?"

She shook her head. "No. We were undercover."

"But…" The blonde rubbed her eyes, streaks of mascara now covering her cheeks, "He like, ate you out. And you like, are totally in love with him."

Molly smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, I know."

The pair sat in silence, Mandy sniffling softly, Molly simply just rubbing her back.

"Do you have anywhere to go to?" Molly asked, looking back to the blonde with concern. Sure, Mandy and she had nothing in common, but she couldn't say she hadn't grown fond of the girl in their days here.

She had genuine fun with Mandy. She didn't want to see her sad.

"Well, I have photoshoots in Milan and Rome with a travel agency, but not for another three weeks." She sighed and looked down, "I guess I can just travel around or go stay with my parents in Florida."

Molly bit her lip.

"You ever been to London?"

-x-x-x-

Sherlock hadn't understood why Mandy was tagging along with them back to London. He also had trouble dealing with her endless questions about his career, about what exactly a detective did, if his real name was Sherlock, if his brother actually ran the British government, how long he had loved Molly for, if he—

Yes, it had been exhausting. And while his first instinct was to complain, or be rude to the woman, Molly's calming smile always convinced him otherwise.

Besides, he couldn't really complain when Mandy found a little deerstalker hat for Toby or prepared some American atrocity (oh, who was he kidding, delicacy) called s'mores for him and Molly, or insisted they watch endless episodes of TOWIE on the telly.

He had her to thank for his beautiful Molly, wearing nothing but a slip of baby pink lace and garters that made his mouth water.

Oh, and she had helped him make an Instagram.

It turns out quite a few people wanted to see his photos of cigar ash, Toby, and embarrassing angles of John.

As he relaxed in his chair, he glanced over to his kitchen table, where Molly sat with Mandy and Meena, flipping through a fashion magazine, a bottle of wine between them.

Sure, the chattering irritated him. Sure, he missed his silence. Sure, he hated sharing Molly.

But as it turns out, he owed quite a bit to her friends.

Maybe he'd send them flowers.

But only after he thanked Molly yet again, perhaps this time on the kitchen island.

The End