"But Nancy, only three fingers were found in the bushes! Where is the fourth?" Sherlock said excitedly, half walking and half running to the cab that pulled up for them. Nancy swallowed away the vaguely grossed-out feeling that lingered after examining a dismembered corpse with Sherlock. She was getting used to it, however; this was essentially a typical date for the two of them. She scribbled notes in her journal. "Something's missing here…" she mused. Sherlock grunted in agreement. Nancy could tell he was already drifting away from her, lost in thought. It was a method of detective work that she had never personally perfected. She preferred to put the puzzle together as she went along, and see where she ended up. She slid her hand into Sherlock's, and he jolted back into reality, looking at her beside him in the back of the cab. He reached his other hand over and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, wordlessly, before leaning his head back again and closing his eyes. He allowed her to hold his hand, however. Small triumphs.

"I feel as if I am forgetting a vital piece of information. Damn, I hope I didn't delete it," Sherlock muttered. Nancy gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Sometimes if—"

"Shh!"

Nancy rolled her eyes. The cab ride was silent the rest of the way back to 221B. Sherlock darted out of the cab and up the front steps, leaving Nancy to pay the fare. The vague idea of teaching a wild man to reintegrate into society entered Nancy's mind for a moment, before she chastised herself for thinking such things.

Sherlock wasn't in the chair in the flat; he was in his mind palace. He opened a door, searching for where he had put that thing he had forgotten. Social security numbers…how to read a barcode…how to tell if a credit card number was forged…no, not there. He moved to another room, looking around the corner. Hydrogen, Beryllium, Chlorine, Titian red…wait, that was in the wrong place. He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration, slamming the door and moving to the next, waving a string of imagery before his closed eyes. Scalpel, smelling salts, steak knife, splatter patterns, scapula, clavicle, hip bones…hot breath on his neck. Fingers trailing down his shoulders. He threw himself furiously back into his mental space…yesterday's headlines?

"Sherlock."

His eyes slit open, drifting up as he turned around to meet with the source of the hazy voice, waking him from his meditation. Soft blue eyes materialized and then he became very aware of the woman they belonged to, leaning over his shoulder. Nancy knew he hated it when anyone interrupted his thinking, but she had a theory she just had to test out.

"Sometimes if you forget something, the best way to remember is to completely stop thinking about it for a while."

"A useless and old fashioned trope."

"Have you ever tried?"

"No. I think about it until it is solved."

"Just, give it a shot. Why not?" Nancy purred, landing her lips against the side of his neck.

"You're distracting me," he said in a tone that was meant to be annoyed, but came out as more of a whine.

"Brilliant deduction, Holmes." She continued to brush her lips over his neck, smiling when she felt him tremble and pull his knees up to his chin anxiously. "All for the sake of the case, of course," she whispered. Sherlock wasn't certain if he was furious at her for clouding his ability to think, or if he was ready to abandon all thought forever in hopes that she wouldn't stop. "We will stop at nothing to find the answers," he agreed, smiling as he turned again to face her, sliding his hands over her arms, which were draped around his shoulders. Nancy drifted down to kiss him slowly, as one might sip an expensive wine. It was always like asking a question with Sherlock; she could never be sure what he wanted by looking at him, or even asking him, but she was good at figuring things out, after all. He leaned into the kiss after a moment, pulling her around in front of him as he put his legs back down. In a moment of boldness, Nancy climbed onto his lap. The way his fingers gripped at her waist eagerly answered her question.

Sherlock stared at Nancy, his eyes squinted just a bit in concentration. They flicked over her erratically, and Nancy pulled him into a deeper kiss as soon as she saw it. "Don't start that," she said onto his lips, "I know what you're doing."

"I wasn't," the sound was cut off as her lips crashed back onto his.

"You were. You're not allowed to read me like a book right now." Another kiss. "I want you to be as clueless as I am about what goes on in your head half the time."

"I was only noticing that—" she kissed him again "—your back is arched in such a way that suggests—"

"Holmes. Shut up."

He obeyed. Nancy raked a hand through his dark curls and pulled him closer, her red hair spilling down around them. To hell with the arch of her back, she had several deductions of her own about what she felt through his pants at the moment. She traced her hand down the front of his shirt, to his belt, unhooking and sliding it off so delicately he almost didn't notice she was doing it. Sherlock's hands slid under Nancy's shirt and up until the fabric slid over her neck. She put her arms up and tossed the shirt aside. They crashed back together in a hungry kiss, lips and tongues twisting together as their hands moved feverishly over each other's bodies. Nancy propped herself up on her knees as she pulled his pants down. They pooled at his ankles and stayed there. It suddenly felt as if there was very little time left in the world and they couldn't be bothered to do things like taking clothes off properly.

Nancy wrapped her hand around Sherlock and he let out a low moan that could have put her over the edge without ever being touched. She had picked a good day to wear a skirt. Such things could be arranged easily. She stroked up and down, enjoying how he squirmed a bit anxiously, always a bit unsure. "Drew," he hummed. They had a backwards sort of habit of calling each other by their last names in moments of particular intimacy. Sherlock explained it as psychological distancing effect once, and Nancy had punched his shoulder and told him it was cute. Now he was trailing a hand under her skirt to return the favor, and she pressed into his touch, begging with the arch of her back that he liked so much. He teased her with two fingers, pulling her down to him, their lips never breaking apart. He curled his fingers, smirking as Nancy tensed and clung to him.

Sherlock locked his hands around Nancy's hips then and pulled her down to meet him. She pushed down slowly, watching his expression as his breath hitched and he tried to hide it. Sherlock mentally listed endorphins and synapse reactions and he spun into vertigo as he tried to organize them and failed. This was a drug; this was purely letting go of the endless slew of logical information, and he welcomed it. He thrust up into it, burying his face into Nancy's shoulder, biting rough kisses along her collarbone. The sun streaked through the window, hanging low in the evening, and they glowed with an unearthly sort of light. "Now, Holmes. Tell me everything," Nancy murmured as she moved gracefully over him, making him lay his head back in pleasure. She rolled her hips slowly, and Sherlock thought he might die if he didn't get more. She gripped the chair and pushed back from him a bit, locking eyes with the Worlds Only Consulting Detective.

Sherlock sucked in a shallow breath and tried to play at annoyance with her game, when in reality they both knew he loved it. Nancy unbuttoned his shirt, one by one, as he spoke. "Your jaw is quivering; I can see you are fighting a smile. You think you are terribly clever right now and are enjoying your position of power. You are wearing the dark purple eyeliner that I complimented once, so perhaps this was all premeditated from the time you applied your makeup this morning. You are fighting the smile even harder now, so yes, I was correct." Nancy curled up and down against him, hard and suddenly, as punishment for his teasing. He gasped, but continued, "You are conscious of your posture because you are insecure, but with no cause. You are the most exquisite creature I have ever beheld. You—" she cut him off with a heated kiss, and they moved together in a growing crescendo until the room dissolved into minor scales played on violins and the adrenaline of opening a door for the first time not knowing what's beyond and Sherlock was certain he wouldn't need a nicotine patch for days and Nancy was certain she had never beheld a more beautiful solution to any case. They fell into each other's arms as the sun was just setting, filtering an orange light around the tangled limbs draped over the chair, still and quiet for a moment.

"Ah…ah!" Sherlock yelled suddenly.

"What? What's wrong?" Nancy stared at him quizzically.

"Yesterday's headlines! The Victoria Park murderer keeps souvenirs from his victims…like fingers! That's our man!"

Nancy laughed, a light and pleasant sound that made Sherlock's grin widen. "If Lestrade asks how we thought of that…let's leave some parts out."