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His wife knows of course, they have an understanding. She's free to pursue anyone she wants, sexually, and he's free to pursue everyone. As long as they're safe at it, they're both satisfied and happy.
Everyone at the Met has had him. Some several times. Some aren't sure how the weasel-faced sarky tech goes from aggravating the life out of them to pulling their pants off with his teeth in the maintenance closet. Some have only had him once, just to test if the rumour was true. Lestrade doesn't regret having him, but hasn't gone back for more; something about setting boundaries. Some have had him over and over. Some have had him at the same time as others. Everyone knows, no one discusses it. It's just the way things are.
One of the desk sergeants has him every Tuesday after shift in the Met gym showers - soap and lather and slippery skin against skin - then goes home and spends the night cuddling with his wife. She knows too. She sends the forensic tech a card every Christmas.
Everyone also knows about the thing he has with Donovan. She'd thought she was the only one at first, until someone updated her. She wasn't oblivious, and he wasn't lying, he'd just not bothered saying anything because he'd assumed she knew. Everyone knew. Things were awkward for a while after she realised, but then Sally settled into a 'friends who happen to fuck now and then' relationship with him and it was all fine.
He's seen the staff psychologist. None of this comes from any need to harm himself, nor any place where he's broken inside. It's not an addiction, and he never pushes where he's not welcome, at least sexually. He just very much enjoys every variation of sex and wants to share.
(He tried it on with Sherlock, just once, the first time they met. He truly doesn't understand Sherlock.)
His wife wonders on rare occasions why he's like this, just out of curiosity. He says it runs in the family. He's joked that he's related by blood to most of London, since his grandfather bedded half the people lining the parade route when he returned from the European front at the end of the second World War. She once thought he was joking.
But they are happy. They're fulfilled, and stable. The misunderstandings at the Met are rarer as the new people pick up on the atmosphere more quickly. She finds lovers of her own here and there. Sometimes she'll bring a special one home and share them. Not as many as her husband, but that's her appetite.
He is always willing. Sometimes it's a new Constable needing comfort after finding their first corpse. Sometimes it's a cheery arse-grab in the locker room that turns into some erotic wrestling. He doesn't connect emotionally very well, but the physical he manages, sometimes several times a day.
It's something extra he can provide. Some people bake cookies and leave them next to the coffee in the kitchen; Anderson gives sex. It's what he likes and what he's good at giving. Anyone, anywhere.
It's all part of being a team player, and, at least in this regard, everyone wants to play with Anderson.