Archive of Our Own

John left work after a day filled with holiday wishes and headed home, where Mary would be waiting with his early Christmas gift. Or so she had told him before she’d left work early. John had wondered all day what she could have gotten for him that would make her so giddy yet weirdly apprehensive. It was unlike her. Maybe she had bought him something expensive and wasn’t sure he would like it? 

He slid the key into the door of his and Mary’s place at the same time the door swung open. Mary, dressed in a gorgeous red dress, with a radiant smile on her face, held the door open. 

“Go freshen up and come to the bedroom,” she told him in lieu of greeting before placing a small kiss on his cheek. Something was up. John snuck a peek into the bedroom as he headed to the bathroom but nothing seemed amiss. He took a quick shower. Judging by the way his fiancée was dressed, he had a fair chance of ending up in bed so he’d rather wash the smell of the clinic off him. 

Or maybe they were going somewhere? Opera, maybe? He continued to wonder while he was in the shower. His suit was dry cleaned and hanging in the wardrobe, so he was good to go if that was the case. His thoughts screeched to a halt when he left the bathroom, just a towel around his waist. 

On his bed, no, on his and Mary’s bed, was Sherlock. Sitting on the very edge, fully dressed, his back straight and looking at John. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile. Didn’t yell “Merry Christmas!” Not that he would do any of those things anyway. John turned to Mary, who was standing by the door he’d just opened. 

“What’s he doing here?” the sound of John’s question came out far more harshly than he intended. Here he had been thinking of fooling around with his fiancée when his best friend invaded that image. Although the sight of Sherlock on the bed, didn’t cause his sexual excitement to dwindle too much... 

“That’s your gift,” announced Mary, chewing on her thumbnail and looking a little worried.  

“But that’s Sherlock,” John said, stating the obvious, completely baffled. 

“This was a bad idea,” Sherlock said, standing up. “Merry Christmas, John.” He offered a small smile but his eyes were downcast, so unlike Sherlock.  

“Noooope,” Mary put a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and pushed him back where he was standing up from. “John,” Mary approached him and put both her hands on his still-wet shoulders. “I know how much you’ve missed Sherlock and how you both think your life can’t go back to the way it was. And maybe that’s true, it can’t be the same, but can it be better? Can your friendship grow closer?” Mary was treading carefully, she knew if she said the wrong thing John was liable to go back and close himself in the bathroom. John, meanwhile, was slowly taking it all in. What was she saying about his and Sherlock’s friendship? Yes, they had drifted apart but how was Sherlock sitting on their bed going to... ohhhhh 

“I want to be a part of your life, John. Not an obstacle,” Mary explained as she glanced at Sherlock and back to John. 

Both Mary and Sherlock offered John eerily similar looks of raised eyebrows and flat-lipped smiles as John was hit with apprehension. His cheeks flushing, he started retreating towards the bathroom. “You haven’t thought this through, Mary.” 

“Yes, we have,” she took a step closer to Sherlock, “and I know what you like, remember? I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.” Her words were laced with innuendo. 

“Mary...” there was a warning tone in John’s voice. His stance was defensive, with his hands at his sides, his left palm slightly twitching. 

“John,” she took both his hands in hers, stilling the tremor, “think about it. You’ve missed him for so long. I saw you then...” her eyes were searching his, not voicing out loud how she’d seen John grieving and broken before she’d helped him slowly put himself together, piece by tiny piece. She hadn’t stopped doing that, had she? “Tell me, honestly tell me that you don’t want this and it will be all over. I’ll give you that jumper I bought just in case,” she finished with a small chuckle. 

John looked at Sherlock, still sitting on the bed, uncharacteristically quiet when a conversation involving him was in progress. However, his eyes were conveying more than his words ever could as they roamed over John’s half-naked body.  

“Sherlock?” all John’s questions were summed up in the tone of his voice as he said the name. But John had always assumed that Sherlock didn’t feel that way, that he didn’t like John that way. Apparently, he had been wrong. John realized this as he saw the open expression on Sherlock’s face, telling him that if Sherlock had been a predatory animal, John would have been lying underneath him in a matter of seconds.  

He had imagined a similar scenario many times before. At times when he lay in the dark, he could see in his mind’s eye an image of his best friend needing and wanting him beyond platonic friendship. John could almost feel Sherlock’s lips on his neck, long fingers settling on his hips and strong hands pulling him closer. But John knew he liked women, and Sherlock was always so emotionally distant, John had no idea where those images came from. Once they had, however, John had always needed a close encounter with his hand; the image of Sherlock front and centre in his mind. 

Sherlock stood up and approached John and Mary, his eyes focused on John’s. The expression on his face was stoic now, hiding the glimpse of emotional vulnerability that graced his face just moments before. John realised, Sherlock did not want to pressure him so he hid behind a mask of calm demeanour. 

“Ultimately, it’s your decision, John. Take it or leave it. I did get you something else just in case as well.” Sherlock reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed John a palm-sized paper bag. John couldn’t help himself and opened it to find a metal can. It said “Keemun Tea” in hand-written letters on the label. 

“Tea? You got me tea?”  

“You told me once about a tea your great aunt brought for you from China when you were a teenager. You said that drinking it was like tasting her adventures in a cup during a life rooted in place,” Sherlock quoted with astounding accuracy. 

“But I haven’t told you what the tea was, I never remembered the name...” It wasn’t just any tea, John thought as a warm, pleasant feeling came over him. 

“I called your great aunt and asked about the tea and the place she’d bought it from,” Sherlock's shrug was everything but nonchalant. “They shipped it within two weeks.” 

John was speechless for a moment. Sherlock went to all the trouble to bring his fondest memories back. “Thank you,” he finally said and went to the kitchen to put the tea in the cupboard. He stood for a moment, holding onto the countertop while he closed his eyes to let his mind do the thinking thing it should do. Then he reached into his heart in search of answers, knowing that the final outcome would have a great impact on how he had always seen himself and his sexuality.  
Decision made, he headed back to the bedroom. 

“Are you both sure about this?” John asked, his voice steady again after he had managed to collect his thoughts and emotions. 

“Yes,” Sherlock and Mary replied in a chorus of agreement.  

“If that’s a yes, from you too, John, I think we’ll need a safeword for all of us,” Sherlock said, looking between Mary and John. Sherlock’s own cheeks were flushed too. He wasn’t hesitant, but he was somewhat embarrassed, John assumed it was because of Mary’s presence more than anything else. He had been naked or almost naked in John’s presence before and never seemed to mind. “Black,” Sherlock said. “If any of us, at any time,” Sherlock looked squarely at John, “at any moment, say ‘black’, the play stops. Is everyone on board?” 

“Aye aye captain!” exclaimed Mary with a small chuckle. That made John laugh too, breaking the tense moment.  

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with excitement. He was on the case, John realized as he watched Sherlock twirl out of the bedroom only to come back a moment later with a thick folder in his hand. John had a premonition of what was about to happen and he couldn’t believe Sherlock could be so...so...Sherlock in a situation like this.  

“There are thirteen scenarios that would guarantee the most pleasurable experience for all participants, if we start with this,” not lifting his gaze from the folder, Sherlock handed John a sheet of paper with a diagram and several rough sketches of three people in various sexual positions. John had to turn it sideways, then rotate it again until he finally focused on one particular position. His mouth opened to express his surprise, his excitement, his shock at Sherlock’s in-depth analysis and apparent expertise but Sherlock handed him another sheet. This time John was astonished at the attention to detail he wouldn’t have expected from Sherlock. 

“This position,” Sherlock pointed at the second sheet with larger and detailed sketch, “is one most likely to appeal to you, John for a start of the evening. It will give you the sense of the familiar before you venture into the unfamiliar.” Sherlock looked at John for the first time since he started his tirade and John felt his mouth hanging open. “You’re holding it upside down, John.” 

John glanced at Mary who was grinning as she looked at John with complete adoration and a sense of triumph.  

“Have you seen this?” John pointed at the folder. 

“Yes, I have.” Mary replied clearly enjoying John’s befuddlement. 

Then John looked back at Sherlock, who stood with a business-like expression on his face, still holding the pornographic sketches in his hands. Sherlock hid the emotions John knew were there and, when he placed a palm on Sherlock’s cheek, the detective closed his eyes as if relishing the touch and leaned his head infinitesimally closer to John’s hand. When Sherlock’s eyes opened, the mask of composure evaporated and John was able to see the vulnerability, the emotion, and the arousal in Sherlock’s honest expression. The great detective was smitten.   

The two people John loved most in this world had conspired for this event. How could he resist? 

- 

Sherlock was nervous and he had sufficient reason to be. He hadn’t been sure John would want Sherlock in his bed, but after weeks of persuasion and Mary’s repeated assurances, he was ready to give it a try. She had had sound arguments for it too. She persuaded Sherlock that it would strengthen his and John’s unique friendship rather than breaking it apart.  

It had never been just friendship, not for Sherlock. It hadn’t been only physical attraction either, even though John was the perfect man in Sherlock’s eyes. The way he moved, talked, licked his bottom lip. The way he looked tired after a tough day, how he looked when he was sleepy, or in the morning when he was rested and on his way to make breakfast. When he was angry or annoyed at Sherlock for something he said or did, but most importantly when he was smiling. Seeing John smile wasn’t dissimilar to experiencing the sunrise in the cold desert of Sherlock’s soul. John touched Sherlock’s mind and, dare he think, his heart in ways no one had ever dared to. No one else had ever attempted to... 

Sherlock wanted John. God, how he had wanted him from the day they had met. But they were never meant to be. They were too different and John didn’t want men that way, he made it clear on several occasions. Despite that fact, Sherlock thought he’d seen a look or a gesture from John suggesting otherwise, but he had never been convinced enough to broach the subject with him. Afraid he would scare him, offend him, or worse - lose him. Nowadays, John was busy with his new life. He was not living with Sherlock anymore, hardly even visiting, occasionally texting. John seemed further away every day and it hurt to realize that it might get even worse after he got married. However, Sherlock was determined that John should have everything he needed in order to be happy. If that meant him marrying someone else, so be it. 

Having thought that, Sherlock realised the enormity of the unparalleled gift Mary was offering for him and John. Just when Sherlock thought he would lose John completely, the person who he’d thought would break the remnants of their friendship apart was desperately trying to bring them even closer together. Closer than they had ever been and in ways Sherlock only ever imagined during hot and sticky nights in his own bed. 

After the events of the last two years, Sherlock’s body betrayed him at times. Trying to conceal the slight tic in his right hand, Sherlock stripped, leaving just his shirt on. He bought a new shirt especially for this occasion. Years ago, he had heard John say that the purple shirt was the one he liked best. After two years of intense workouts in the form of running, weight lifting and martial arts training, he had put on a lot of muscle. He had had to go undercover to destroy Moriarty’s network from the inside, and he needed the extra strength.  

None of his old shirts would fit him now and that was the reason he had bought the new one, but not why he wouldn’t take it off tonight. He refused to show John his scars. The torture he had undergone was mapped out on his body but it was especially visible on his back. A map of what had happened to him during the two years of his separation from John. He didn’t want John to see him maimed, to see the realisation of what Sherlock had been through in John’s eyes. He didn’t want John to hate the look of his body either. The shirt would stay on. 

When John had first emerged from the bathroom with just a towel around his hips, Sherlock was speechless. John’s wet hair was combed back, his chest still glistening with drops of water. The sure military stance, chin lifted slightly upward, sharp jawline and the body of a man who never left the war made Sherlock’s libido escalate. He was spectacular. Doctor John Hamish Watson was a fine specimen. And Sherlock wanted his hands all over him.  

When John had actually agreed to what Sherlock and Mary had planned and scripted for this night, Sherlock could hardly believe it. The elation coursing through his veins mixed with trepidation. John’s eyes lifted to meet Sherlock’s and a blush adorned the detective’s cheeks, but John didn’t back away. Like the soldier he was, he held his hands in fists to his sides, back straight, lips in a straight line. Mary appeared in Sherlock’s field of vision, took his hand in one of hers and with the other she reached for John. 

- 

Of course, she was scared.  

John’s internalised homophobia hadn’t allowed him to acknowledge his bisexuality. Mary hoped that marrying her and still being able to have Sherlock as a friend and lover would finally fulfil John. Make him truly happy. If tonight went as she hoped, she was willing to throw herself into an agreement where the three of them consisted as a unit. 
From the moment she’d met John, she’d seen how broken he was. She’d tried to fix him as best she could, but it wasn’t enough. Only around Sherlock did she see the man John could become. The man he was afraid to let out. She hoped this experience would bring John and Sherlock closer together. But also, she wanted to be a part of it. She couldn’t forgo John. She wouldn’t, unless he asked her to. She’d never loved anyone as much as she loved John. She would kill for him, lie for him, die for him. Share her body with other man, for John.  

Share John with another man.  

“Well?,” she asked, knowing that if she didn’t give the two stubborn, closeted mules a little push they could spend the whole evening eyeing each other longingly. Occasionally stealing small touches when they thought no one was looking. They had spent years doing that before she appeared or so she had gathered from their other friends. Mrs. Hudson had a lot to say about the subject.  

- 

John’s breath stuck in his chest as he let himself appreciate the view of the two people he loved most in one room and waiting for him to claim his gift. 

Mary unzipped the side of her gorgeous red gown and let it fall on the floor. Underneath she wore lacy black bra, showing her breasts in their full splendour and a black garter belt with suspenders and black thigh-high stockings. And oh God... no panties. Sherlock stood right next to her, his hand cold in John’s warm one. Sherlock wore a black suit with a purple shirt. John’s eyes travelled from Sherlock’s cheekbones to the open collar and the tight shirt with buttons about to pop. Suddenly, the room became hot and stuffy and John had to sit on the bed. He looked at Mary, took a deep breath, looked at Sherlock…oops not where he had aimed to look initially but his sitting position left Sherlock’s groin at John’s eye level. John opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and pushed himself to a standing position again.  

He approached Mary then, took her face in his palms and placed a quick kiss on her lips, “You’re insane to think of this.” 

“I love you too, John.” She smiled radiantly at him then her gaze shifted between Sherlock and John.  

- 

“Go on,” Mary encouraged.  

Finally, John approached Sherlock much the same way he had approached Mary a moment before. He framed Sherlock's face with his palms, drawing the taller man to stoop a little as John looked up and let their lips meet for the first time. John clearly aimed for the same chaste kiss but Sherlock’s hands flew to John’s hair and nape, trapping them in the kiss. A moment into it, both of them relaxed and opened, letting their tongues dance. It was the culmination of all their repressed need. They kissed like they couldn’t breathe without each other. It was the most erotic thing Mary has ever seen in her life.  

- 

John felt the exquisite mix of Sherlock's cold hand on his nape and Sherlock's hot mouth on his own. The thrill of the kiss was much like the thrill of the chase; John’s heart accelerated, breath quickened, mind focused on one thing. This time it was Sherlock’s touch, his lips, his hair, and oh God his lower back. He pulled John so incredibly close that he could feel the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt imprinting round shapes on John’s naked torso. Sherlock kissed him like he wanted to claim him, devour him and pleasure him at the same time. John had never been kissed with such desperation mixed with finesse before, as if this was destined to be their first and last kiss.  

John fell into the kiss, giving up control, not caring for this one moment about anything else. His hand twisted in Sherlock’s hair, the black curls he had wanted to touch for so long but had never dared. John’s towel slid to the floor, or maybe it was Sherlock who took it off. John didn’t care anymore. He wanted this man who had made him question his desires for all the time they lived together, who had broken his heart by leaving him, who had come back and barged into his life again, stamping on his feelings, bringing back the pain and longing. John felt everything now and it all centred around Sherlock. The anger and desire, the frustration and lust, the confusion and love. The carpet beneath his feet ceased to exist and so did the room, the world. Mary.  

Mary. 

John broke the kiss to look at Mary who, to his surprise was as flushed with arousal as he himself was. In a surge of endorphins, John picked up Mary who wrapped her legs around John’s waist releasing a squeak, and lay her on the bed. He climbed on top of her, initiating a series of open-mouth kisses along her body, her breasts, ending at her pussy. She was already aroused, her wetness encouraging him to dip two fingers inside. John suckled on the bundle of nerves that made Mary writhe on the bed while curling his fingers upward just the way he knew would make his fiancée scream in ecstasy. Mary was the most sexually responsive woman John had ever had the pleasure of having underneath him. She clutched John’s hair, holding onto him as her other hand desperately tried to hold onto the sheet, her body arching from the climax. Her eyes flew open with more hunger in them than before as she came on his tongue and John knew at that moment that this gift was for them both.  

For the three of them.  

From the very beginning of his and Mary’s relationship, the sex had always been excellent. Mary was insatiable in bed and John was honoured to oblige her. The best part of their relationship was in the bedroom. What that meant was a subject to ponder another time. Still coming down from the excitement of Mary’s orgasm, John missed the moment the bed dipped to his left.  

Sherlock, in all his glory, sexy shirt and long legs, was sitting on the bed like the most enticing snack, waiting to be devoured. Prior to climbing on the bed, Sherlock had shed the suit jacket and the whole bottom part of his wardrobe which left him wearing just the shirt. John’s mouth dried and he licked his lips looking from Sherlock’s half-mast cock to his face. The smirk on Sherlock’s face hid a hint of fear of rejection, but John had learned to see through Sherlock’s array of masks. John had never pleasured a man before, but the equipment was the same so how hard could it be?  

On the bed, in front of him, wasn’t just a man. It was Sherlock, the man who roused all kinds of mixed feelings in John. At that moment, arousal and stage fright were battling each other for dominance. But just for this night, this one night he could let himself do what he wanted. They had all agreed to it. No one else would know, only the three of them. The two people he trusted most and himself.  

John climbed on the bed, straddling Sherlock’s outstretched legs. His hands did a slow upward slide on Sherlock's shirt before opening the second button from the top as the first was already open, revealing Sherlock's long, pale neck even more. Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand in his, stopping him from opening the next button. 

“The shirt stays,” Sherlock announced leaving no space for argument, his eyes flashing at John with something almost scary. This wasn’t the same Sherlock who left John over two years ago.  

“Fine,” John said harshly directly into Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock didn’t initiate the kiss, he didn’t push as John would have expected. He didn’t direct the play as he used to direct their actions when they still lived together. This night, he let John decide and take what he wanted from Sherlock. 

“How can I want you so badly, Sherlock?” John whispered into the crux of Sherlock’s neck and shoulder before he kissed the soft skin there. “I want to taste you, lick you, fuck you.” He was like the forbidden fruit, and John wanted to devour him and never look back. 

“What are you waiting for?” Sherlock growled, gripping a fair amount of John’s short hair at the nape and bringing their mouths together hungrily, eliciting low rumbling noises from them both.  

John broke the kiss and locked gazes with Sherlock as he slid lower, parting the sides of Sherlock’s shirt to reveal Sherlock’s cock. John gulped looking at it. How Mary managed to get all of John’s cock in her mouth he didn’t know, but this...this may prove to be an impossible task.  

John licked the underside of Sherlock’s cock from the balls to tip, holding it steady with his hand, then took the head into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, gathering the precome, swallowing it. Sherlock’s head fell back, his hands reaching out, sliding up John’s arms, and carding into John’s hair.  

“You have no idea how long it’s been since I first imagined you doing this to me, John.” Sherlock’s usually low voice seemed even deeper, silkily laced with the arousal John wrought from him.  

Encouraged, John took more of Sherlock into his mouth, sucking eagerly. Sherlock’s arousal was making his own peak even more, and the tip of John’s cock brushed Sherlock’s legs. The unfamiliar yet pleasantly tickling sensation of leg hairs brushing his cock made John want to press harder and seek more friction. Quickly enough, John fell into a rhythm with his hand and mouth, relishing the purring sounds coming from Sherlock. 

“Enough,” Sherlock’s strangled voice informed John, as he tugged at his hair, enough that John’s mouth lost its grip on Sherlock’s cock. John loved the feel of Sherlock pulling his hair, the pain informing him how much Sherlock liked it, the tiny pinpricks on his scalp turning quickly from pain into pleasure. 

Mary appeared in John’s field of vision and straddled Sherlock, her back to John’s best friend, her legs open in invitation to her husband-to-be.  

“Will you share your fiancée with your best friend, John?” she asked playfully handing John a bottle of lube. “And will you do the honours?” 

John looked at Sherlock over Mary’s shoulder, his face flushed, hands behind his head, waiting for John’s decision.  

“I’d love to,” John replied, reaching for Mary’s face to kiss her, letting their tongues meet for a brief moment, letting his mouth say thank you as he shared the taste of his friend with his fiancée. Thank you for doing this. He closed his eyes, grounding himself in the familiar feeling before doing more of the unfamiliar awaiting them. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sherlock with an unbelievably sexy smirk on his face. A cat who got the cream. 

John took the lube from Mary and poured a generous amount on his hand and slicked both of his palms together. Fingers of his right hand circled Mary’s back entrance, eliciting a sigh from his fiancée. When he slid the first finger into her, his other hand reached for Sherlock’s cock to apply the same substance.  

Sherlock lay on his back, ready. He was looking over Mary’s shoulder at John who knelt on the bed, and slowly stroked himself. His lips were slightly parted as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. 

Mary squatted over Sherlock, her back still to him, and took his cock to guide it to her back entrance. She was looking at John as she slowly lowered herself, lifting up a little, then lowering a little further. Her eyes closed for a moment. Her generous breasts were showcasing her fast breathing pattern, and her stockinged legs were graceful even in the unusual position, the black nylon a stark contrast to Sherlock’s pale skin right beside it. 

John looked at Sherlock then and, to his surprise, Sherlock wasn’t looking at where his body was joining Mary’s but he was looking at John. John felt a flush hit his body just at the moment that Sherlock’s hips moved upward, seating himself fully in John’s fiancée. Mary relaxed then and lay back on Sherlock’s chest, her arms moving to the sides. Sherlock hooked his arms, bent at the elbows over Mary’s to hold her steady. It was equivalent to being tied to the bed for her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary, John noticed as she graced him with a sultry look, her legs falling open even more in silent invitation.  

John moved closer, his knees on both sides of Sherlock’s long pale legs and between Mary’s open ones. John realized that this was the moment to throw all his inhibitions away. Tonight, he had to if he wanted to experience this gift fully. John grazed his fingertips over Sherlock’s ankle then flattened his palms over his calves and slid his hands along Sherlock’s legs, to the inside of his thighs, marvelling at the expanse of smooth skin. Until he noticed scarring.  

“John...” Sherlock’s voice beckoned him to look up, over Mary’s shoulder, at his friend. Sherlock’s face was flushed, much like his own and he didn’t say another word, John’s name still lingered on his parted lips. Not breaking the gaze, John’s hand slid to Sherlock’s sac, gently cupping it before it moved to the place the two people he held dearest in this world were joined. Mary’s back arched, her full breasts beckoning John. He leaned to take one of her nipples in his mouth, his hand caressing the soft tissue between the two of Mary’s openings before he slid two fingers inside her wet heat.  

“Oh God Mary...” 

“Hurry up, John before I come on your fingers, I swear,” Mary breathed in impatience. John chuckled into her breast and saw Sherlock smile too. John took himself in his hand and after rubbing the head of his cock on Mary’s dripping pussy, he slid inside. Slowly, in one fluid, yet unhurried thrust, all the way to the hilt. He paused then, his head dipping, to steady his breath, to steady the blood flow in his veins, to just hold steady. It was a tight fit. He could feel Sherlock’s balls touching his, Sherlock's cock so close to his own through the thin layer inside his fiancée’s body.  

As Mary lay stretched over Sherlock, she turned to whisper in his ear and Sherlock’s eyes turned to John. His eyes were filled with such lust John could feel the gaze scorching his skin.  

He started moving slowly, in and out of Mary, his hands holding onto her thighs. Then Mary lifted her hips which allowed Sherlock to start moving his hips up and down as he slid inside Mary. It took a minute or two to synchronise their movements. They started moving faster. Mary’s mewling, louder than the grunts coming from both of the men in the room, signalled she was close. John had been right and soon Mary was screaming as her body pulsed on both cocks before she collapsed back on Sherlock. It was her second orgasm and John knew she could easily have three in one evening but she started to carefully disengage from the two of them.  

John’s narrowed eyes landed on Mary and she gave him a mischievous smile as she climbed off Sherlock and winked. Did she just wink at Sherlock? She did, didn’t she? John felt as if he had woken up in a pornographic version of The Twilight Zone. When they told John that they had discussed the matter they weren’t kidding. Apparently, they scripted it too. John swallowed audibly, the realisation that the game wasn’t over swallowed by the anticipation of the upcoming scenario.  

Mary pulled John over to her and kissed him, both of them kneeling on the bed, letting Sherlock slide underneath them off the bed to stand on the floor. Mary moved so as to make John follow her until he was on his hands and knees kissing her. His left hand reached to stroke his erection. When John’s eyes bulged in realisation at Sherlock’s touch on his hip, John felt Mary smile into their kiss. Sherlock’s hands slid over John’s body, a slow stroke along his spine all the way to his nape where Sherlock’s hand squeezed slightly. John could feel the heat of Sherlock’s body so close to his own, yet not touching. Not close enough. 

“John?” Sherlock’s velvet baritone, so close to his ear, caused a shiver to run through John’s body, “what’s the safeword?” Sherlock’s hand wandered from John’s back to his buttocks as Sherlock’s teeth grazed John’s ear. Hinting at what was coming so John could get the idea and have the time to back away. 

“Black,” John said, breaking away from his fiancée, turning his head to look at Sherlock’s face so close to his own. 

“I can stop at any mo-...” Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence, John wouldn’t let him as he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s in a fast, wet meeting filled with agreement, promise, and long-suppressed need. Sherlock broke the kiss, subsequently placing another one on John’s jaw. Then he trailed his mouth down to John’s neck, sucking a mark onto him. John felt giddy triumph at the thought of walking out of the house tomorrow with that mark on his neck. Everyone would think it was Mary who had done it. Mary.  

John looked at his fiancée underneath him, as his best friend continued kissing his back, and she gave him a small nod, letting him know that that was the plan all along. How could she be okay with this?  And she wasn’t simply okay with it but was committed to the idea. However, he couldn’t dwell on those details now; his mind was too overwhelmed with physical sensation to think coherently. But as long as everybody consented, John was able to let himself go. Do what his body wanted, let Sherlock do to his body what they both wanted.  

Sherlock bit John’s buttock before both of his hands spread John open to welcome the slickness of Sherlock’s tongue. “Sherlock...” John squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head to compose himself. In the meantime, Mary reached for John’s cock to stroke it. John gripped the sheets of the bed, his nails digging into the fabric. He bit his lip when he felt Sherlock’s lubed finger taking the place of his tongue inside John, working its way in slowly, spreading the slick substance generously.  

“Relax, John,” he heard Sherlock say and he did, he tried, he relaxed and oh God... “Mary, slow down... oh just a little...yes...” John could barely contain his orgasm but he did. He took a few deep breaths and leaned his face close to the bed, giving Sherlock better access. He felt the tip of Sherlock's cock breaching the ring of muscle between his arse cheeks.  

The sublime sensation was so different to what he had imagined it would be. It didn’t hurt, even though John wouldn’t have minded if it had. The intrusion, the idea that it was Sherlock inside him made John euphoric. John bit into the sheets, the fabric muffling the strangled sound leaving his throat. Sherlock eased himself in with short in and out motions that grew deeper and deeper, until John felt Sherlock’s hips touching his arse.  

John broke the grip Mary had on his cock and pushed himself upwards. He was kneeling with Sherlock behind him in the same position. They stilled for a moment to catch their balance. Immediately John felt Sherlock’s arms around him; one across John’s chest and the other around his throat. Mary moved to crouch in front of him on all fours to take John’s erection in her mouth, giving him a sultry look. John let his head fall back to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder, relishing the gentle squeeze of his best friend’s palm on his throat. 

John was surrounded, his prudish walls under siege, crumbling. He found talking about intimacy and emotions hard. This was easier. They all didn’t have to talk about their urges, they acted on them. He knew Mary would press him to talk about it sooner or later but for now, he could enjoy the physical. Just for this night John could let his walls fall apart brick by brick. What he was afraid of was that he might never want to build them back in place. Maybe that was a good thing. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you, John,” Sherlock’s words were rhapsodic, filled with more emotion that John ever thought his detective capable of. 

A thought flashed through John’s mind. Was it possible to come from the sound of someone’s voice alone? At this particular moment, he thought it was highly probable. John turned his head to kiss Sherlock. A quick wet kiss which he broke quickly, not wanting to steer Sherlock’s focus away from the demanding thrusts of his hips. “Shut up and fuck me, Sherlock. Fuck me like you’ve wanted to.” Like I’ve wanted you too, he realized in amazement.   

Sherlock bit into John’s shoulder as he picked up the pace with his hips, holding John in place with his teeth. Sherlock angled his hips to put better pressure on John’s prostate and the massage proved to be John’s last straw. John held onto Sherlock’s arm with one hand and to Mary’s hair with the other when his orgasm hit him. Sherlock’s hand tightened on John’s throat as he barked out John’s name filling John’s arse with his semen the same moment John filled Mary’s mouth. She looked up at him, their gaze met as she swallowed somehow managing not to gag in the midst of it all. She sucked gently on his now sensitive flesh before popping his cock out of her mouth and gracing John with a radiant smile.  

John could still feel Sherlock’s breath on his shoulder and the large body flush at his back when the reality of the moment finally hit him. Endorphins dissipating in his body, the adrenaline dwindling, the excitement turning into apprehension. 

“Don’t overthink it, John,” Sherlock chided from behind John as he slid his penis out of his body, “not now. I can almost hear your brain straining. Leave it for now.” As if a string has been cut when Sherlock disconnected them, John collapsed on the bed. He looked between Mary and Sherlock, who was standing now by the foot of the bed, looking at him as if waiting for John to break down or have a panic attack. John laughed heartily. He couldn't help himself as a fit of giggles took him over. He felt elation coursing through his veins. John felt rapturous, his emotions all over the place. The two most important people in his life joined him in his laughter, their worry dissipating.  

Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom for a couple of minutes, and when he left Mary went in. Sherlock was doing something on his phone, standing in the middle of the bedroom, still wearing just his shirt. John wondered why hadn’t he taken it off, but was too tired and too happy to care. He was able get up only for a quick clean up and immediately went back to bed. He listened to Sherlock’s voice as he talked to Mary whose voice was further away and John pulled a sheet over himself letting his eyes close for just a moment. He drifted off in the bliss only to wake up too soon to a sound of a doorbell. 

Mary was wearing John’s checked shirt and Sherlock had put on black boxers and changed into a black shirt. Sherlock approached the bed with a large paper bag that smelled heavenly to John. If Heaven smelled like oriental spices. His stomach made a pleading sound. 

“You ordered from Wagamama?” John asked Mary, surprised. 

“Sherlock did,” Mary answered. “I’m too tired to cook and we both know we wouldn't eat anything Sherlock prepared. 

“Hey!” Sherlock exclaimed, offended. “I think I shall just have to eat this chicken katsu curry all by myself,” Sherlock gave a great theatrical sniff of the bag he held as he started turning towards the kitchen. 

“Nooo!” whined John and Mary in unison.  

“Your cooking is spectacular, Sherlock! Come back with that bag! Come on!” John pleaded, but he couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice.  

“Have you ever eaten anything he prepared?” Mary whispered to John. 

“God, no. Not that I ever had to. I’m not even sure he ever found out where I used to keep the bread.” 

“I can still hear you!” Sherlock yelled from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of cupboards being open and closed. A moment later, Sherlock brought through two plates filled with delicious-smelling food, handed them to John and Mary, and returned quickly with one for himself. He sat on the very end of the bed, opposite the engaged couple.   

They ate in companionable silence. However, John’s mind was far from quiet. He observed Sherlock sitting too far from them considering what they had just done. Was he unsure of being wanted as a part of their union? John wondered if he was so certain himself. Apparently, Sherlock and Mary planned and choreographed the whole evening but all of them had to talk about what would that change in their relationship. The transcendent experience already transformed John’s thinking. He had come to realise that this night could just be the beginning of a new chapter in all of their lives. 

John looked at Mary who, winked at him when she noticed him staring before she continued forking small bites into her mouth. Then John looked at Sherlock. Eating. Sherlock was eating. He usually ate after a successful case, when he was satiated, content. Therefore, Sherlock must consider this night a success. He bloody well should, because it had been the greatest sexual experience of John’s life. 

John looked at his best friend, the long graceful legs, the forearms peeking from beneath the rolled-up sleeves, the neck showcased in the overhead light and realised his refractory period was over.  

John reached for Sherlock's empty plate and placed it, along with his, on the nightstand. He grazed Sherlock’s knee with his fingertips before looking up at his friend.  

“John?” Sherlock asked raising his eyebrows, then looked towards John’s erection and smirked.  

“I want to fuck you now, Sherlock,” John’s voice came out steady, commanding and he could tell Sherlock was hooked as he moved further on the bed. 

“Yes, Captain,” Sherlock responded and John was gone for him. 

John looked inside himself. He felt at peace, not only physically but deep in his heart. He felt... 

...happy.