Molly Hooper always worked better when she was alone. The hospital was almost deserted as she worked quietly on the corpse that lay out in front of her. Nothing suspicious, just simple old age. Things had been quiet lately in the morgue. No murders, no mysterious deaths, just the bodies of those whose life had come to a natural end. While no-one necessarily enjoys dealing in death (well almost no-one…), she preferred these types of bodies; those who had lived a full life. She liked when things were quiet. Unlike…

"MOLLY!"

The deep shout broke her from her reverie.

"Molly Hooper, I need something to do! There would appear to be some sort of anti-crime wave devouring the streets of London and it is, quite frankly, becoming boring." Sherlock Holmes stormed into the lab, his smooth voice filling the room - the audio equivalent of melting chocolate.

"So you haven't got a case then?" Molly enquired timidly. She clearly knew the answer and immediately wished she hadn't asked but she needed to keep him talking, to hear his passionately beautiful voice.

"No, of course I haven't got a case. If I had a case would I have wasted my time coming here?" He contorted.

After noting the self-conscious look on her tender face after his blunt reply, he added, "I came here because I need something to do. Anything you can give me, investigative work, experimental, I'll take it. I can't imagine why anything of this nature would elude me but, have any bodies turned up to which the nature of death cannot be explained?"

"Nope. Nothing. Sweet Arthur here died in his sleep, with his lovely wife's arms around him. Isn't that so heartbreakingly precious?"

"Yes. Quite." replied Sherlock sardonically, "Now can we get back to the real issue. I am bored."

"So do something to take your mind off your boredom. Is there nothing else you like to do besides solve crimes?" Molly asked absent-mindedly as she continued to busy herself with dear old Arthur. "Although, if I ever catch you messing with drugs again Sherlock Holmes, I will do more than slap you."

"Noted." Sherlock replied, "I sense you are a little tetchy today, is that because Tom dropped by to pick up his things today?"

"Stop it."

"I can't help it. There are three things I do when I am bored. I solve crime, smoke or make deductions. Clearly the former two are out of reach, so I have to make do with the latter. I have no idea why I believed it a good idea to tell all the shopkeepers not to sell me cigarettes."

He began ranting, the way he usually does when he is restless. She looked into his pristine eyes, carefully watched his animated movements. She was no longer really listening to what he was saying. As she watched this brilliant man, she wished that for just a while, he could be a little more human. Despite this wish, she still would not trade him. He was an enigma to her. She had always cared for him. No, she had always loved him, even with his anti-social idiosyncrasies. Despite his apparent lack of passion for other people, he still managed to arouse more passion in her than anyone else ever could.

She shook herself back to reality. She had no idea when Sherlock had finished speaking. He ruffled his dark curls and gazed annoyingly at her, evidently expecting a response.

"You know that there are other things people can do to stave boredom or relieve tension" Molly said absent-mindedly, getting back to Arthur.

"Oh, Molly, do enlighten me. What exactly do normal people do when they are bored? I may make it my experiment to try it out."

"Sherlock Holmes, dabbling in the social sciences, who would have thought?" Molly retorted. She was getting used to answering him back.

"I did say I was bored!" He snapped, "So what does Molly Hooper do when she needs to relieve tension?"

"The thing that springs to mind usually involves two people," she mumbled, forgetting who she was talking to.

"And what may that be?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, Sherlock for someone with a mind as brilliant as yours, you really can miss the point sometimes, can't you?"

This was what frustrated her most, his lack of social awareness or his blatant ignorance of it. He was able to deduce almost anything about a person from a mere glance; it was guaranteed she could not hide her feelings for him. Yet he refused to acknowledge them. He spent his life ignoring his base urges to enhance the power of his mind. He was unattainable. This hurt her more than any cruel comment he could make about her.

This internal monologue must have been written all over her face, for the following actions of Sherlock Holmes were those of a man who had heard every word. He marched towards her with the air of a man who meant business. When he reached her, he cupped her delicate face in his dominant hands and pulled her towards him. Before she could catch her breath, he kissed her. Not the sweet peck on the cheek she had been grateful for on two previous occasions, but a proper, passion fuelled kiss. She let her guard down and ran her fingers though his curls, gently kissing him back. He pulled away from her and grabbed her by the hand.

Somehow, they ended up in the locker room. Molly had no recollection of how she got there. She was suddenly aware of Sherlock gently nuzzling her neck and a soft moan escaped her lips. She ran her hands over his collar bone and to his shoulders where she slid off his Belstaff. He mimicked her movements and her lab coat fell to the floor. She suddenly reverted back to timid Molly, unable to go any further, not believing the reality of the situation. He took charge and unbuttoned her blouse. He softly ran his hands over her skin as they made their way to her bra clasp.

He pulled her close and she began breathing heavily as she felt him, hard and eager against her. He trailed kisses down her neck, collar and breasts before laying her down on top of his Belstaff. This was happening she thought to herself and if you don't take advantage of this moment, Molly you will live to regret it. With that she grabbed him, undressing him as his hands made their way under her skirt, teasing her. The next hour or so was an intense, euphoric blur to Molly, who still could not believe what was happening to her.

As they lay together, on the floor of St Bart's locker room, the satisfaction was etched on their faces.

Molly however, began to sober. She couldn't help but think she was simply another one of Sherlock Holmes' experiments and suddenly felt cheapened. He sensed her anguish and for the second time that day, decided not to hold back.

"I once told you Molly, that you matter to me. I would like to clarify that I do not mean this in the strictly functional sense. Yes, you have saved my life, but you matter to me not just because of what you do. You matter because of who you are. You are a kind, accepting, patient and passionate woman who I have previously overlooked. Know that this is not because I have not wanted you but because I have trained myself to suppress my emotions, believing they would be my undoing. You have disproved this belief. I think you could very well be the making of me, Molly Hooper. If you'll have me…"