Part Three: Jollock

John, of course, is a complete mess, rushing about straightening and tidying and fretting over what to do for supper when Sherlock eventually returns to the flat and oh-so-casually describes his recent tryst with Molly Hooper in her office.

He is a mess with an impressive hard-on the entire time, since he refuses to either allow Sherlock to "help" him or do anything about it himself. "Saving it for later," he mumbles when Sherlock tries to stop him in the midst of carting several piles of books back up to his own bedroom. His face is red – a combination of exertion and embarrassment, Sherlock surmises – but he is clearly looking forward to Molly joining them and so he leaves John to his cleaning. Sherlock's only contribution to the fuss is to retrieve his violin from where it is resting on his chair and place it carefully into its case. He rests the case against the corner of the mantle and retreats into his bedroom in order to escape being recruited into activities he finds completely unnecessary; Molly has already agreed to this tryst, why go to such bother to impress her?

But John will do what John will do, and Sherlock is content to retreat into his mind palace, sitting cross-legged on his bed and carefully going over the stream of filthy suggestions he so recently whispered into Molly's ear.

Some of them will be put to use very soon, some will be saved for later, but all of them, he determines, will eventually become reality.

oOo

Molly arrives promptly on the dot of six, as promised. Well, if she'd come right after work she'd have been there closer to five but six isn't too far off. Sherlock hears Mrs. Hudson letting her into the building and bounds out of his room, eager to begin the evening's entertainment. Not that he considers John and Molly "entertainment," of course, but now that his libido has been allowed free rein, he finds he can think of little else than indulging it. Until a case comes along, of course; he must make sure that Molly and John understand that, although he no longer considers himself married to his work, it still must take priority.

But not tonight. Not for the remainder of the weekend. He scowls as he realizes he should have told Molly to bring along an overnight bag. Still, it might be interesting if the three of them find themselves in her flat at some point...

While he is musing on such things Molly has ascended the stairs and knocked tentatively at the door. John reaches it before Sherlock, opening it and ushering Molly into the flat with a bashful smile.

She is wearing a calf-length trench coat and a pair of high-heeled black pumps Sherlock is positive she didn't own before today. "Left work early today to do some shopping, Molly?" he asks as she starts to undo the belt to her coat.

She pauses and gives him a shy smile before nodding. Her fingers stumble a bit as she unbuttons the coat, first depositing her oversized – and also new – handbag on the coffee table. John helps her remove the coat and she smiles her thanks to him.

Both men go very, very still as the dress she has donned – also new, Sherlock knows, being quite certain he'd never seen that particular shade of red in her closet before – is revealed.

The dress is like nothing they've ever seen Molly wear before, a tight red sheathe that falls just above her knees, strapless with a sweetheart neckline that shows off her modest cleavage to perfection. She is wearing no stockings and judging by the clinging fabric, either nothing underneath in the way of knickers or else a very tiny thong.

Judging by the flush of color in John's face, he is noticing the very same thing. Or else he is simply stunned by the sight of Molly Hooper in a dress that makes the one she wore that memorable Christmas Eve pale in comparison.

Her hair is loose over her shoulders, the way Sherlock has always secretly preferred to see it although he understands the practicalities of keeping her hair out of the way at work. There are no twee bows in her hair or excessive accessories this time, no jewelry at all. He approves.

"You look wonderful, Molly," John finally manages to say as he tries to hang her coat onto a hook without taking his eyes off their dinner guest.

Sherlock simply nods his agreement, continuing to devour her with his eyes as well. He hadn't been sure what to expect from Molly; would she be blushing and stammering, embarrassed by the idea of acting out one of her most secret fantasies, timid, nervous...

She is none of those things. Sherlock is both impressed by and aroused by how confident she seems. Perhaps it is the dress and their reactions to it; perhaps it was the fantastic sex she and Sherlock had shared earlier in the day. Whatever the reason, Molly seems ready for anything the evening might hold and Sherlock knows he and John will do nothing to ruin it for her.

oOo

Dinner is some red-sauced pasta dish Sherlock promptly forgets the name of. He supposes it is delicious but scarcely tastes a single bite, too focused on what he plans for after dinner to pay attention. Molly eats neatly but enthusiastically, praising John's efforts to the point where he turns a bit pink and starts mumbling that it wasn't anything, just a family recipe and other such trivial nonsense.

Sherlock contributes very little to the conversation, content to watch and listen to the other two, seated across and diagonally from him, respectively. The two very special people in his life, who have wormed their way into his heart and whose bodies he is just beginning to get to know as well.

They are sipping wine, Molly and John making small talk when Sherlock realizes he has absolutely no interest in waiting so much as a second longer to begin the real reason for Molly's visit to the flat. His erection has been straining at his trousers since she walked in the door and putting off the night's pleasure seems utterly ridiculous, when all three of them are presumably anticipating the same thing. He stands up, eliciting a surprised glance from John, who had leaned forward to make some point to Molly. She looks up as well, a questioning glance on her face, but when her eyes meet his hers widen just the slightest bit and her tongue darts out to touch her top lip and that. Is. It.

Sherlock shoves his chair back, reaches over and pulls Molly onto his lap. She squeaks in surprise and John makes a sound of protest (most likely because he wishes he had had thought to do so himself) and Sherlock hums in appreciation as her pert round bottom lands squarely on his erection. He presses a series of feverish kisses to her neck, then looks across the table so his eyes meet John's. "Well?" he growls as his hands come up to cup Molly's breasts through the silky fabric of her dress. "You've been dying to taste her all night, John, no time like the present!" Then he rucks Molly's dress up to her hips, exposing the fact that she is, indeed, wearing the tiniest of silken thongs beneath it – also red, although slightly lighter in shade – the front of which is clearly damp.

She has also done more than shopped for new clothing and a new handbag, Sherlock notes with the clinical, analytical part of his mind, the part he can't ever shut off completely. There is no sign of pubic hair peeping around the edges of that thin strip of fabric, so she has either had a bikini wax or possibly completely shaved herself.

He truly hadn't thought he could become any harder, but the anticipation of seeing which of his deductions is correct shows how wrong he is in that particular matter. Interesting. No, not the correct word…incredible. His hands slide down her body and he runs his fingers across the front of her thong as John continues to hesitate on the other side of the table.

It is Molly who manages to break the other man's temporary paralysis, by moaning loudly as Sherlock once again presses his mouth to her neck whilst simultaneously rubbing her pussy with one hand and kneading her right breast with the other. Her legs widen invitingly as her hands clutch Sherlock's hips and John is suddenly between them, kneeling on the floor between Molly and Sherlock's legs, fumbling with the buttons to his shirt before shrugging it off and leaning forward to press a series of eager kisses to the insides of her thighs.

John lunges up eagerly to press a hungry kiss to Molly's lips, which she returns with enthusiasm, reaching out to clutch his arms. Sherlock is pleased that his two people are showing so much pleasure with each other; he'd known John wanted Molly, but to see Molly responding with such fervor is gratifying.

He watches through avid eyes as John once again sinks to his knees, returning his mouth to Molly's thighs in a series of damp, open-mouthed kisses while her fingers brush against his hair and knead his scalp. Sherlock opens his own legs wider, pressing his hands to her knees to encourage her to do so as well – and to make it easier for her to keep her balance on his lap, as he has no intention of relinquishing her until John has turned her into a sopping wet mess.

What he does not anticipate, although it gives him a jolt of pleasure, is how John leans his face down to where Sherlock's bulge is just visible beneath Molly's sex and mouths Sherlock's erection through his trousers. He looks up with a wicked grin as Sherlock sucks in his breath, then delicately presses his fingers to the edges of Molly's cunt, opening her wide and pressing his mouth to her in an obscene kiss that wrings moan after pleasured moan from her throat.

Sherlock decides then and there that he is wearing entirely too much in the way of clothing and leans back against his chair, sliding one hand between him and Molly and unbuttoning his dress shirt – the purple one he knows she loves to see him in. He works the button and zip to his trouser as best he can without unseating her, and when he finishes he turns his attention to undoing the zip to Molly's dress. The tiny hook-and-eye combination at the top confounds him for a moment – especially when he feels John's fingers cupping his erection before returning to their exploration of Molly's exquisite little snatch – but eventually he undoes it and the smooth, creamy expanse of her back is revealed to his appreciative gaze – and fingers. He tugs on the fabric, lifting the dress over her head.

Molly raises her hands obligingly, but immediately returns to threading her fingers through John's hair as he continues to lick and suck at her pussy. She wriggles and writhes on Sherlock's lap the entire time, hooking her legs around his and those of the chair in order to keep from falling over.

He returns his hands to her waist, skin on skin now, and concentrates on sucking a dark pink mark into the side of her neck. She is his, although he is sharing her with John, and he wants her to remember that fact every time she sees her reflection this weekend.

He has already deduced her intention to stay if invited. Clearly her oversized handbag is large enough to hold a toothbrush and change of underpants and whatever else she might need. Possibly even a full change of clothes. He will have to investigate.

Later.

Molly brings one arm up around the back of his neck, tugging wildly at his dark curls, gasping and moaning John's name mixed in with a series of oh God's and yesyesyes and other garbled indications of her increasing pleasure. Sherlock slides his long fingers up her torso and pinches her nipples at the same time as biting down on the juncture of neck and shoulder and she goes rigid, nearly screaming her release, one hand still digging into his own head and the other just as desperately clutching John's.

After a moment Molly goes limp. Sherlock eases her arm down to her lap, nuzzles her softly and watches John as he sinks back on his heels, looking completely debauched with his face still shining from Molly's juices and his hair standing on end. Sherlock has no desire to resist any temptations tonight, and so he lifts Molly's limp form up, redeposits her on the chair and crawls over to lick John's face clean, tasting Molly at second-hand as he licks and nibbles and eventually kisses John on the mouth. He doesn't tease or slide his way between John's lips; he presses and thrusts, his tongue dueling frantically with John's while Molly watches and murmurs her appreciation of the sight she is being treated to.

oOo

Molly feels like the proverbial wet noodle, limp and boneless in the aftermath of her second orgasm of the day. One from Sherlock, one from John; fair is fair after all.

And now it is their turn. She is breathless, watching through avid eyes as the two men – shirtless, their torsos so different to one another but so lovely in their own way, one long, lean and pale, the other tanned and muscular – collapse onto the carpeted floor, bodies pressed together and mouths writhing against one another's lips as they kiss.

She wants to join them, there on the floor.

She wants to watch.

She can't make up her mind. Both options are tempting; she has fantasized about a night like this for so long she's afraid she'll paralyze herself with indecision.

Sherlock, as always, divines her thoughts and pulls his mouth away from John, turning to give her a look of such blatantly sexual desire that she trembles. "I've described what happened earlier, Molly. Wouldn't you like to see for yourself?"

She nods, incapable of speech. John makes what might be a sound of protest, but Sherlock covers his mouth with his again and reaches down to undo the button and zip to the other man's trousers. The remainder of their clothing is removed in record time, and Molly nearly faints with pleasure at the sight of Sherlock stroking John's hard length with those clever, talented fingers of his. Molly tucks her knees up to her chest and hugs her arms around herself, eyes wide and staring as Sherlock positions himself next to John, kneeling by the other man's side so she has a clear view of what happens next.

He kisses his way down John's neck and torso, the other man's eyes clenched shut until Sherlock demands that he open them. "Watch, John," Sherlock growls. "Both of you. Just watch. For now," he adds with a wicked grin, then resumes his leisurely kissing until he reaches the line of hair leading to John's navel. He licks his way down to John's crotch; the doctor moans and gasps, digging his fingers desperately into the short nap of the carpet, and Sherlock's mouth hovers over his friend's cock for a long, deliberate moment. Blue eyes snap up to meet brown; Molly is gasping, rubbing her thighs together, feeling the dampness between her legs increase as her arousal levels rise and threaten to overflow.

Then Sherlock lowers his head and takes the top of John's cock into his mouth – John is circumcised, Sherlock is not – and slowly begins to bob and lick and suck until he has taken the entire length into his mouth and throat.

Molly moans almost as loudly as John at the sight. Suddenly it is too much to take; she lowers her feet to the floor and slides off the chair, crawling over to the two men, kicking off her shoes and bringing her head down to take John's bollocks into her mouth as Sherlock continues to swallow down his length.

John bucks his hips and upper body off the floor with a loud cry at the sensation of a second pair of lips on his body; his eyes have closed in spite of Sherlock's admonition, but he opens them now to stare down at the two people working to give him what he will later swear is the best fucking orgasm of his entire life, bar none – including the time he was in Singapore and had a wild night with a pair of twin prostitutes.

As John's body settles back to the floor, Sherlock eases upwards, removing his mouth slowly until only his tongue remains on his friend's cock, licking and teasing. He looks at Molly again, his eyes inviting her to join him, which she eagerly does. Their tongues touch as they lick John's shaft from bottom to top and back again, and Molly swings her body around so her ass is facing toward John's head, clad only in the tiny thong. She feels his hand clutching her buttocks, hears him moaning her name and Sherlock's and feels a flush of heat shudder over her from head to toe, settling like a bolt of lightning between her legs. She widens them just a bit, and John takes it as the invitation it clearly is, his fingers sliding down the curve of her ass and dipping into her pussy.

Molly moans and licks John harder as he finger-fucks her, bucking her hips against his hand. He has at least two inside her, possibly three, and she wants to feel his shaft inside her so badly she almost shoves Sherlock aside in her desire to mount John.

Her moans become sharp cries and mewls as she feels one of John's fingers, slick with her juices, slide up the crack of her ass and then back down again, pressing lightly against her tight hole. "God, yes," she gasps out before taking the head of his cock in her mouth. Sherlock obligingly moves his own mouth down, sucking at John's bollocks the way she was only moments earlier, and then John gives a strangled cry of warning that she doesn't need; she is eager to swallow down his cum, to taste him the way he tasted her, and moves her head faster and faster until John can no longer control himself.

He comes with a shout, calling her name, his cum hot in her mouth and throat. She licks his tip when he is finished, then pulls her head up.

John's fingers have gone still, pulled out of her completely, but she has no complaints. Well, she certainly would like them back where they were but she understands how hard it is to concentrate when your entire body feels like a tornado has just passed through it in the wake of a lightning storm.

She looks over at Sherlock as she eases back onto her heels. He pulls her to him and kisses her, licking the remaining cum from her face much as he licked her own juices from John earlier. "Ass play, Molly?" he says in a teasing voice that nevertheless sends a thrum of desire down her spin. God, his voice, she could come just from listening to his voice. "You are a naughty girl, aren't you." His fingers drift down to her freshly bikini-waxed crotch, stroking the strip of remaining hair through the thong with what feels like appreciation. "Very, very naughty, Doctor Hooper."

She gives him a challenging look in spite of her desire to press his fingers deep, deep inside her and rock against him until she comes again. "Not anything you can't handle, I hope?" she asks, pleased when her voice comes out husky and sexy and not squeaky and nervous. Because, no matter how confidently she's been projecting herself, her personal sexual experience isn't quite as varied as her imaginary experiences have been. She's had a finger up her ass before, yes, but nothing larger – and she wants Sherlock inside her that way and John inside her pussy at the same time.

But she isn't ready to articulate that, just leans down to give John a tender kiss as he continues to recline on the carpet, eyes shut and blissful expression not even close to fading from his face. "John, Sherlock hasn't been taken care of yet," she murmurs in his ear. "Do you mind if I..."

He opens one eye and smiles at her. "Please, just don't be surprised if I get the energy to join in."

"John has a remarkably quick recuperation period," Sherlock agrees. "Sofa, Molly?"

He helps haul her to her feet – John as well, although he protests that he's quite comfortable where he is – and guides her to the piece of furniture in question. John settles into the chair opposite, obviously intent on watching whatever happens next.

Molly wonders what happened to the shy, quiet girl who wouldn't say "boo" to a mouse. She's never felt so free, so wanton, so unselfconscious. She knows it has everything to do with Sherlock; the way he came to her that afternoon, the incredible sex they'd had in her office, and the way he and John both clearly lusted after her as soon as she shucked off her brand new trenchcoat.

Sherlock interrupts her thoughts by pulling her down onto his lap so she is facing him, gliding his hands down her back from her shoulderblades to the curve of her arse in a light, almost tickling motion that nearly drives her insane with desire. She darts her head forward for a kiss, grabbing his head roughly between her hands and insistently sliding her tongue between his lips.

He responds instantly, opening his mouth beneath hers, his own tongue tangling with hers as his hands grab her ass a bit more roughly, pulling her cheeks wide as he slips a finger into her with none of the delicacy of touch she knows he is capable of.

No, this second coupling, with John Watson sitting and watching them, is much rougher, much more of a dominance play than what they shared before. Molly's hands slide down Sherlock's pale, muscular chest, stopping only to grasp his hard length, to stroke him as she nips at his elegant expanse of neck, sucking her own mark into his the way he has done to her. He groans and thrusts his hips upward, and Molly takes that as the only invitation she needs. She lifts herself onto her knees and uses one hand to guide him into her welcoming wetness.

oOo

John is still having a difficult time believing how much his life has changed in just one day. None of his wildest, raunchiest fantasies come close to comparing to the reality of entering into a sexual relationship with Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper.

He is getting hard again just watching the two of them fuck each other on the sofa, Molly's arse rising and falling, the flashes of Sherlock's cock as he slides in and out of her cunt, her tits bouncing as she presses her hands against Sherlock's chest...

With a groan John takes his own cock in hand and feels it harden into full erection with just a few strokes. But he doesn't want to just watch and take care of it himself, not after having two mouths and lips and tongues bringing him to such a fierce orgasm. No, he wants to join the fun, show the other two he isn't afraid of being labeled gay or bi or anything else, show them he, too, can be as free and uninhibited as they are.

He rises to his feet, hand still stroking his cock as he approaches the other two, kneeling between their legs as he did before, but this time his tongue touches not only Molly's slick feminine wetness but also Sherlock's cock, shiny and just as slick with her juices; his hands are on Sherlock's thighs, widening them so he can fit more comfortable between them.

He hears Sherlock give a deep groan as his tongue rakes it way from the other man's bollocks to the base of his cock, hears Molly give a sharp gasp as he continues the movement of his tongue along her opening and up along the crack of her arse until he reaches that tight hole his finger was investigating not so long ago. He moves his head slowly at first, then synchronizes his rhythm so that the three of them are moving as one, is tongue flicking along Molly's ass, slipping inside and out, tongue-fucking her as Sherlock's dick brings her closer and closer to another orgasm.

When it comes it is not quiet or subtle; Molly literally shrieks her pleasure as her body goes rigid; she slams herself down on Sherock's cock so hard he winces, then shudders as his own orgasm rapidly follows hers. John pulls away to give them time to recover before gently tugging Molly off of Sherlock's body, lying her on the sofa with her head on the armrest as he leans down and does for the other two what Sherlock just did for him.

He licks every trace of Molly from Sherlock's softening dick, then settles himself across his friend's lap (his lover's lap?) with his head between Molly's legs, eager to taste her with Sherlock's cum still inside her, dribbling from between her legs. He knows she will be overly sensitive after coming twice in such a short period of time, and feels he can be forgiven a bit of smugness at the knowledge that his mouth had brought her so much pleasure.

He swipes his tongue across her opening, being as soft and careful as he can when he is impatient to plunge his mouth against her pussy the way he did before. She whimpers and presses her hand against his head, not pushing him away but encouraging him, and he feels his erection getting harder by the second. How will he manage to keep from plunging into her the way he wants to?

He feels Sherlock's hands caressing his buttocks and moans, digging his fingers into Molly's thighs. She gasps and rocks against his face and he redoubles his efforts to clean her up the way he did for Sherlock, to taste the two of them together, a mingling of musk and pleasure he has never experienced before. It is heady, intoxicating, and he knows he will have to solicit at least a hand job from one of them to relieve the growing ache in his groin, when Sherlock speaks.

"Molly, John wants you. I can tell you're ready for him, so perhaps if you'll both allow me to...?" His words trail off as John obligingly rolls his body off the sofa and Molly's fingers reluctantly loosen the death-grip they've had on his hair. John watches, absently stroking his hard length as Sherlock settles himself into the corner of the sofa, pulling Molly forward by her ankles so she is sprawled on her back.

There is a wicked gleam in her eyes as she hooks one leg over the back of the sofa, the other slipping over the edge so her foot is planted on the floor. She is completely open to their view, the thong having long since vanished, and John groans and falls on her like a starving man on a feast, kissing her, positioning himself and then plunging into her. Her leg falls across his shoulder and he gasps and swears and calls her name as he thrusts into her as hard and fast as he can, unable to control himself in spite of his knowledge that she must be on the edge of physical pain from all the stimulation.

He is vaguely aware of Sherlock's body behind him, feels the movement as he rises from the sofa – no, not from the sofa, just to his knees. John lets out a particularly coarse vulgarity as he feels Sherlock's tongue flicking across his opening, and thrusts into Molly even harder, gasping and trembling as he feels himself suddenly on the brink of his second orgasm of the evening. Christ, he hasn't had this much sex since med school, and is a bit proud of the fact that he doesn't appear to have lost any of his youthful stamina.

He feels Sherlock reaching around his body to press his thumb against Molly's clit. She screams again, digging her hands into John's shoulders almost painfully, and that does it. He comes with a shout of his own and collapses against her, feeling Sherlock come to rest with his head on John's back and his hand moving up to stroke Molly's arm, the only part of her he can currently reach.

Eventually they disentangle themselves, Molly laughingly protesting the full weight of two grown men pressing her into the sofa cushions. They offer her the use of the shower – well, John does, while Sherlock simply sits there and looks about as self-satisfied as he ever has after successfully solving a case or proving some point with his brilliant deductions.

"It's no fun showering alone," Molly says with a smile that lands somewhere between innocent and wickedly wanton, an amazing feat in John's opinion. He glances at Sherlock, whose eyebrow has quirked up in tandem with the corner of his lip.

He waves a lazy hand, indicating that the other two should go on without him. "I'll shower after. There's not enough room for three, unfortunately. Meet me in my bedroom, the bed's larger and more comfortable than yours, John." Then he folds his legs up beneath him, raises his hands up in the familiar "thinking" position he favors and appears to vanish into his mind palace.

Molly gives him a puzzled look, but John shakes his head and smiles, grabbing her hand and tugging her lightly along. There won't be any shower sex – even his recuperative powers aren't up to anything so strenuous just yet – but it will be a great deal of fun helping her soap herself up.

They are comfortably snuggling under Sherlock's duvet, lightly kissing and stroking one another's body when they hear his flat mate enter the shower. Less than five minutes later he is out again, and less than three minutes after the water stops he has joined them in bed, climbing in and tucking himself against Molly's back, nuzzling the back of her neck and reaching over to stroke his hand along John's arm and side.

Nobody speaks or does more than murmur appreciative sounds for a while, then Sherlock breaks the silence. "Does it need to be said that I would like this new relationship between us to continue beyond this weekend?"

John meets his eyes squarely. "Course not. Molly?" He lowers his gaze to meet hers; Sherlock is behind her and can't see the tears of pure joy that have sprung from her eyes, so John lifts his friend's hand from where it has come to rest on his hip and gently uses his thumb to wipe the tears away. "I think that's a yes as well, Sherlock," he says with a grin.

Molly nods her head so violently John is concerned she will accidentally jab Sherlock's thumb into her eye. But Sherlock pulls his hand away, running his fingers through her hair and leaning closer to press a series of light kisses along the nape of her neck even as John brings his lips to hers, reaching across her body to run his hand along Sherlock's flank. This is the maddest, most impractical thing he's ever contemplated doing in his life, and yet it feels completely right.

"So," he hears his friend say as he flicks his tongue across Molly's ear, eliciting one of her wonderful, breathy moans. "Shall we so something about the list of suggestions I gave you this afternoon, hmm?"

John has no idea which of the many filthy things Sherlock told him he'd whispered to Molly during their first bout of sex he plans for the three of them, but he knows one thing: He is looking forward to making them all come true.