It had been a long day for the world's only consulting detective, or, perhaps more accurately, a seemingly long day due to a distinct lack of stimulation. As he fiddled about on his violin he was waiting for the arrival of his pathologist and long-time friend, Dr. Molly Hooper, with a fresh supply of body parts for his delectation. Lately, for some reason he would never really admit to, he had come to find her own body parts rather delectable, as well, but could not find the courage to act on this attraction. He knew that she had once harbored a completely undeserved affection for him, that she had been attracted to him, but those days, he assumed, were long gone. They were now good friends, and he was never entirely convinced that he deserved even that consideration.

When he heard the downstairs door open, Sherlock Holmes was surprised to hear another set of footsteps accompanying Molly's light tread. He recognized the voice of the other party immediately - his brother Mycroft. He knew that Mycroft and Molly had become rather close during his two year "death", and, even though that was quite a while ago now, he still harbored some resentment, feeling, perhaps, that his big brother was trying to "poach" his pathologist, just as he had co-opted so many of his prized possessions during his childhood. This was, of course, illogical. Molly was not some prize to be fought over. She was an intelligent, kindly, and beautiful woman who attracted people of all persuasions. Mycroft was simply showing good taste in cultivating a relationship with her. Jealousy was not rational, and he felt himself relegating the feeling, along with his attraction to her delectable body parts, into a dark closet in his mind palace.

When the pair walked through the door of the flat, Molly was smiling and Mycroft was carrying a large cooler, presumably full of experimental material. "I've brought you quite a selection, Sherlock. One diseased heart, a cirrhotic liver, a couple of kidneys, and assorted toes. Should keep you busy for awhile."

Sherlock was taking inventory, looking over the various organs with delight. The scene could have been cut from a zombie film, Molly was thinking. But when we spoke, it was not to his generous purveyor of parts, but to his brother. "Shouldn't you be prowling the corridors of power, brother mine, dealing with the latest crisis to hit out government?"

Molly asked with some concern, "Am I keeping you from something important, Mycroft. It was kind of you to give me a lift over here, but if you've something urgent to deal with…"

"It's already been dealt with, Molly."

"How so?" Sherlock asked rather sharply.

"What are we talking about, anyway?" the woman asked curiously.

"One of our lesser distinguished cabinet members has been caught in flagrante delicto. Yet another sex tape! At least this one wasn't boring, my dear. He was in full costume as a raging lion, preying upon a delicate little unicorn, who didn't appear at all frightened, but seemed to be rather enjoying, or at least tolerating, the entire experience. She must have been especially well paid!" Mycroft allowed himself a rather distasteful smirk. "It does seem a bit disrespectful to our national seal, doesn't it? I'm sure the Queen would not approve."

Sherlock let out a dismissive snicker as he unpacked the human offal, but Molly was giggling uncontrollably. "He must be completely humiliated, Mycroft, for such a thing to be made public! Poor man!" But her continued giggles rather offset the sympathy she had expressed.

"Even more humiliated by the fact that, despite his leonine costume, he was equipped with the genitals of a common housecat. Not the sort of powerful image our Secretary of State for Defence should project, as it were."

"Do shut up, Mycroft. I'm getting an image that I would rather not have to deal with in any capacity." Sherlock spoke sharply. "How has the matter been dealt with?"

"The minister has resigned, his wife has left him, and the unicorn has been freed to forage in Soho," Mycroft replied with a bit of a laugh.

"A tempest in a teapot, if you ask me," Sherlock said with a derisive snort. "I can see no connection between the Minister's sexual proclivities, bizarre as they may be, and his ability to perform his job."

"That may be true," his brother responded. "But it's more about perception than practicality, as you should know, brother, after your own little foray into the world of adult video."

The was a crash, accompanied by a small gasp, from the kitchen, where Molly had adjourned to do a bit of cleaning up.

"Thank you for bringing that up, Mycroft. That may have been my last bit of usable crockery!" The detective let out a bit of a snort as he nodded toward the kitchen, before continuing, "And I resent the use of the term 'little' when referring to my performance, or anything else!"

"Whatever, brother mine. It was hardly a performance worthy of a BAFTA."

"Really? I wonder that you have studied it closely enough to hazard such a critique." Sherlock looked once again toward his kitchen, this time with some concern. "I think you've broken my pathologist, Mycroft. Perhaps we should remind her to breathe?"

Mycroft did seem a bit concerned at this turn of events, as he walked toward the small woman. "Dr. Hooper? Molly? Are you alright?" He gently took her arm to lead her into the sitting room. "I'm sorry for the shock. It's simply that you've known my brother for so long, I sometimes forget that you were not privy to his rather bohemian lifestyle at uni."

"I was not a bohemian, brother, merely a self-indulgent arsehole. If it felt good, I indulged. Drugs felt good. Sex felt better, but often came with uncomfortable entanglements. Eventually, I decided to forego both, to concentrate on the work." He may have been addressing his brother initially, but his remarks were obviously aimed at Molly.

"And does the 'work' feel as good, Sherlock?" she asked curiously.

"Perhaps not, which would account for my occasional backsliding."

"Are we talking drugs, or sex?"

For some reason, Sherlock found this question a bit uncomfortable. He had been subjected to Molly's wrath on the occasion of his relapse into drug use. He would never forget the sting of her hand as it made contact with his cheek. Multiple times. But he had a feeling that the knowledge that he had, indeed, engaged in such profligate sexual activity would hurt her even more. And he did, in fact, feel a bit guilty about it. Neither her possible reaction, nor his own guilt about his indulgences, were logical, but he would deal with that at a future date. For now, he would make light of the matter, trying to avoid her question.

"Molly, as you well know, I have only felt it necessary to check into rehab for my drug issues. Case closed."

"Case closed without any answer to my question. But, I suppose, it's really none of my business, is it? Does John know about this tape, Sherlock?"

"Why would I tell John, and not you, Molly? But, no, John is unaware of its existence. It's not that I am ashamed, you understand, it's just not something of which I am terribly proud. We were photographed without, at least, my knowledge or permission, you understand. It was not something I set out to do…" The detective lost his train of thought as the woman stated at him as she never had before. "Mycroft, perhaps you could explain the circumstances, from a detached perspective."

Mycroft chuckled a bit, and jumped at the chance to describe, in detail, one of his brothers more embarrassing moments. "Well, Molly, as I indicated before, my little brother led a rather fast and loose life while at uni. He travelled with a rather disreputable crowd, his friend Victor being, perhaps, the most disreputable. Victor, fueled by drugs which loosened the inhibitions, and aided by extraordinary good looks, easily found a new partner virtually every evening. Partners ready, willing, and able to indulge his every fantasy, as it were. Sherlock, being just as socially awkward in those days as he is presently," here he nodded in his brother's direction, to be met with an exaggerated eye roll, "usually just tailed along behind him. On one occasion, unfortunately, the pair, their judgement, as usual, impaired, met up with a rather attractive young woman, and her friend, who insisted that they accompany them back to her flat for an evening of fun and frolic…"

"Really, Mycroft, who says 'frolic' anymore. It was to be an evening of unbridled sex, which, we would, in all likelihood, not remember in the morning. If not for the tape, that is…"

"Please, brother, you asked me to tell the story! Anyway, it was a setup. The pair had done this sort of thing before, it seems. The entire evening's frolic, er, ah, sexcapade…"

"Better, brother."

"Well, everything was taped. Only posher students had been approached in this manner, and most were willing to pay to retrieve the cinematic record of their exploits. Victor, and my brother, did not care in the least, refused to pay, and so, a copy of Sherlock's performance was sent to our parents, with instructions for a payoff, or the tape was to be shopped around in Cambridge."

"Oh, my god, Sherlock, your mother saw the sex tape! What did she say?"

"She merely pointed out that I desperately needed a haircut. Good grooming has always been of utmost importance to Mummy," Sherlock said, with a bit of a smile.

Mycroft cleared his throat to regain her attention. "In any case, our parents are not without influential connections. How else could they manage to keep Sherlock from being sent down from uni after all his infractions. The culprits were soon located, and forced to pull up stakes, heading off to yet another location to, presumably, continue their endeavors, and I was dispatched to comb any porn venue at Cambridge which might have had a copy of the tape in stock. Luckily, there were only a few to be found, and just a handful had been sold."

"Sold!?" Molly squeaked. "You mean they're still out there?"

"I presume they are, although why they would be of interest to anyone I couldn't say. And there seems to be a 'director's cut' of sorts on the internet…" Sherlock said, with seeming disinterest.

"Sherlock, you're an idiot. You're relatively famous now, you know. What would this do to your reputation? To your business?"

"I can only assume that I would become known by a somewhat more impolite epithet than the 'hat detective'. But, not to worry. The credits list me as 'Will Holmes', my given name, and, Mummy was correct, I did need a haircut, so my features are, for the most part, obscured. My publicly recognizable features, at least. Besides, as Mycroft will tell you, I was, by no means, the star of the production. Victor and the young lady in question occupied the main stage, her bed, where the hidden camera was focused. My partner and I are in the shadows, on a settee in the corner, at least initially…"

"Yes, brother, you were rather too enthusiastic to remain confined to one place." Mycroft spoke with a disdainful sneer.

"I see you've studies the epic rather carefully, Mycroft. Looking for pointers?"

But before they could fully indulge in a series of brotherly jibes, they were distracted by the seemingly blank look on Molly's face. Sherlock was concerned that the information had shocked his pathologist beyond her capacity to forgive and forget. Mycroft, being the smarter brother, assumed that she was processing the information, creating her only little video in her mind, perhaps with her in a co-starring role. Neither possibility was a comfortable proposition.

But Molly sat on the couch, trying to process all the information which she had just received. It answered only some of her questions about the man she loved, however unrequited, more than anything else in the world. Obviously, he was not asexual, as so many people assumed. And he was definitely not a virgin, no matter how Moriarty had referred to him as such. But she was still in the dark as to the sex of his partner in the video. Mycroft had used the terms "friends", and "pair", when referring to the culprits, never giving a clue as to the gender in question. This Victor person, obviously, had engaged in relations with the female, who appeared to be the ringleader. It was referred to as "her" flat, after all. But what about her partner in crime? And, come to think about it, who was this Victor? More than just a friend? She thought back on all the rumors about Sherlock and John, but she had always assumed that they were only fabrications of Mrs. Hudson's overheated imagination. She may be more than curious, but she was definitely not sure she really wanted to know. With a shake of her head, she finally spoke. "Enough! Too much information! Let's drop the subject before my head explodes!"

But Sherlock was not to be deterred. He needed some advice, and believed that Molly Hooper, with vastly more experience in sentiment and emotion than himself, was just the person to supply it. "Molly, seeing your reaction to this rather unexpected information, I would like to ask your opinion about something."

"Go on, ask, you wanker."

"Given my performance on the night in question, I hope you don't mean that literally, Dr. Hooper!"

"Sherlock, stop trying to deflect with humor, and ask your question," she answered, hoping against hope that he was considering making a sequel, and seeing herself as a co-star.

"Should I tell John?"

"If you think it that important to ask me about, I'm surprised that you haven't told him already."

"Surprising enough, Molly," he said sarcastically, "the topic never really came up. Perhaps, that was, uh, a poor choice of words. That is to say that despite my having to listen, in great detail, about his sexual conquests, and in fact, hear some of them through some rather thin walls, I never felt comfortable enough to detail my exploits for my best friend. So called 'locker room gossip' has never appealed to me. My only concern is that the man has a voracious appetite for internet porn, which I discovered while we lived together. He may come across the video in question, after all, and feel disappointed that I did not share this part of my past with him."

This revelation caused Molly to wonder, once again, just what else, exactly, Sherlock and John had shared while they shared the flat. When she spoke, she may have sounded a bit harsh. "Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock, just tell him! But be prepared for him to share the information with Mary. She'll probably want to throw a screening party. I'll bring the popcorn!"

"That will never happen, Molly. I promise you!"

"Why not, Sherlock. Concerned about the critical reviews?"

"Certainly not! My performance, I would say, was well above average. It's simply that I am no longer that person, and I would like people to judge me for what I am, not what I was."

"Well, if you truly feel that way, I wouldn't tell John. You know Mary. She'll be curious, and with her sense of humor, I'm sure she won't be able to resist a bit of teasing. And eventually, people will become curious about what the jokes are about, and it will all come out. Better safe than sorry, as they say. Unless you feel you have to come clean, for some reason."

Mycroft looked at his brother appraisingly, trying to deduce what he would do. Mycroft had long ago come to recognize the depths of Molly Hooper's feelings for his younger sibling, but he had recently come to suspect that his brother returned these feelings more than anyone, even the detective himself, suspected. He had begun to regret his action in spilling the beans, as he was beginning to realize, to some degree, just how much Sherlock, despite his cavalier attitude, did not want his past indiscretions to be made public. He had the feeling that the the man would rather tell every person in the greater London area about the damned tape, rather than have one tiny pathologist see him performing. It was not John's reaction to the video that Sherlock dreaded, but that of the tiny woman currently sitting on his couch.

"I'll take the matter under advisement, Molly," Sherlock finally said. "In the meantime, I rely on your discretion to keep this matter under wraps. I don't want my goddaughter growing up thinking of her godfather as a porn star."

"Hardly a star, brother. You were not much more than a supporting cast member."

"My vanity, brother, would lead me to believe that my member was, indeed, the star!"

Mycroft laughed at the small attempt at humor, before replying in kind, "Yes, well it is quite amazing what they can do with special effects. Too bad they couldn't do anything about your hair!" He then turned to Molly, saying, "May I offer you a lift home, Dr. Hooper? It would seem that this evening has been eventful enough."

"Yes, thank you, Mycroft. I'd appreciate that," she said, rising from the couch to go in search of her coat. Mycroft and Molly made their farewells, leaving the detective alone to ponder the situation.

Later the night, Molly Hooper was lying in her bed, trying to erase the images of Sherlock the porn star from her mind, and failing miserably. When she had arrived at home, she had performed a cursory search of the net for the mini-epic, but had, thankfully, been unsuccessful. In her heart she knew she could never bring herself to watch it. She didn't even know which images would be more disturbing - those of him with an attractive and willing young woman, or the alternative ones of her beloved carrying on with an equally attractive and cooperative young man. Talk about a dream killer! And just why did he seem so disturbed at the thought of John being made aware of the recording? Or, heaven forbid, seeing it for himself. Molly knew how disturbed she would be at the sight, but why would John be? Was he merely being concerned about his image, or was he afraid John would be hurt? Either way, the existence of the video drove home the fact that Sherlock was not interested in her as a woman, or simply not interested in women at all. So, when it came right down to it, whether it was a male or female in the film with the detective, it was not Molly, and never would be. Except in her still persistent dreams.

The pathologist had finally dozed off just after one in the morning, when she heard the familiar, subtle sound of someone picking her lock. Just what she needed! Perhaps he had come to give her a private showing of the damned video, and solicit suggestions on, and critiques of, his performance. It would be just like the damned git!

"Molly?" She heard a low whisper from the doorway of her bedroom. "Molly, are you awake?"

"I am now," she said with a sigh, rolling over to face him. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Nothing, really. I just want to apologize."

"For what? You really don't owe me any explanation of your behavior at uni."

Herlock approached the bed and sat on the edge. Finally he spoke in a rather subdued manner. "I know that, logically. But, for some reason, I feel otherwise. I never really regretted that whole period of my life, never really thought about it at all. Until I met you. You made something of your time at uni. You worked hard, and achieved a lot. I'm sure that you had sex, but never like that, with strangers. That was quite common for me in those days. I never considered that the act itself was something that should be special, shared with someone with whom you felt a connection, so I felt no shame or embarrassment. I erased a lot of those memories, Molly, because it was so easy to do so. They were simply not that memorable! When I saw the recording, years later, it was like watching a complete stranger. A rather unlikeable stranger, with unkempt hair."

"You know, Sherlock, from all the descriptions of this notorious tape, I can't decide whether I'm more curious about the sex or your coiffure!"

"Well, I can satisfy your curiosity, if you'd like…"

"Sherlock, what do you mean? Are you talking about …"

"My hair, of course! Give me a few months to grow it out. I'll stop conditioning, too, so you can get the full picture."

"Sherlock," Molly spoke slowly, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice, "Maybe we ought to drop the subject. I won't mention it again, if you won't. Agreed?"

"Agreed! But with a couple of further provisions. You must promise never to bring a camera into the bedroom, Molly. I'm afraid I've become a little camera shy. And, also, I want to assure you that there will be no special effects required." He paused to give the woman a moment to interpret just what he was saying.

"Sherlock, you mean you want to…"

"Yep!" he said, popping the "p". "And, to continue with the cinematic theme, I would like to sign you to a long-term, exclusive contract, a multi-picture deal, without pictures. I want you to star in my reality, just as you have starred in my fantasies for ages now." Molly was now staring at him in disbelief. This was too good to be true! Perhaps she was still asleep, and this was one of her fantasies?

Finally, she gathered the courage to speak. "Sherlock, what about John?"

"What about John?" he replied, a bit puzzled.

"You were so concerned about him knowing about the video, or seeing it. Why was that?"

"Oh, good lord, Molly, I suspect it's not because of the reason you think, of course. I often gave John such a hard time about his sexual exploits, emphasizing my superiority in such matters due to my ability to sublimate, I simply didn't want all that to come back to bite me in the arse! But, not to worry, Mycroft has assured me that my cinematic debut, and swan song, will be completely wiped from the face of the earth, as should have been done years ago. All I had to do was threaten to tell Mummy."

"Not even a single copy left?"

"Why? Would you like to see it?" Sherlock said with some trepidation. "I may have a copy, if you insist…"

"NO! I am just a bit curious, that's all. But not curious enough to watch! Did you even know the name of your partner, Sherlock?" She asked probingly.

"I know that's not what you really want to know, Molly, but I will tell you that the name was 'Pat'.

How's that?" The man spoke a teasing tone and an almost evil smile.

Evidently, that was not good, as the small woman delivered a disproportionately strong punch to his upper arm. "Ow! Okay, okay. The name was Patricia. And she was nowhere as beautiful as you." Sherlock reached to take Molly into his arms, and delivered a searing kiss that would have melted any film media. "Are you ready for your close-up, Dr. Hooper?"

"Lights, camera, action, Mr. Holmes!" Molly barely managed to get out before she was gently pushed back down onto her mattress, and both of them proceeded to make memories that would require no recording medium other than the heart.