BARTS HOSPITAL

Sherlock Holmes burst through the doors of the morgue at St. Bart's Hospital. He was a man on a mission, and he was eager to begin his latest experiment. But this one wasn't for a case, it was of a far more personal nature.

He made his way over to his favourite microscope. Taking a number of samples from his pocket, he then removed his belstaff, casually throwing it over the back of the chair before sitting down. Placing one of the samples on a slide that he then put on the microscope.

Then he waited.

Soon after Molly Hooper entered the morgue. She paused when she spotted the Consulting Detective. She looked around the morgue and then checked her records.

"Sherlock, do you need something?"

Sherlock looked up. "Not today Molly. I just wanted to check some samples so I can finish up a couple of cases for Lestrade."

Molly frowned. "Couldn't you do that at Baker Street?"

Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh. "Mrs Hudson is spring cleaning," he grumbled. "And she insists on singing."

Molly grinned.

"So I thought I'd come here so I could work in peace and quiet," he paused briefly. "If that's all right with you?"

Molly raised an eyebrow. Sherlock preferred to demand rather than ask. Usually his being nice meant he wanted something from her. But since his return from exile he'd been getting better at asking.

"No, no that's fine," she said. "You carry on. I'm just finishing a few things up before the end of my shift."

Sherlock nodded, then went back to looking at his samples. Except that he wasn't looking at them at all. Out of the corner of his eye he observed Molly. When she sat down next to him and began filling out paperwork, he took the opportunity to reach out for her pen, making sure to purposefully brush her hand with his.

Molly jumped with surprise at the contact, dropping her pen that Sherlock immediately picked up. "Just need to note down my findings," he said casually.

Over the next hour Sherlock managed to find an infinite number of ways to touch Molly so as to test his theory for his experiment. Brushing past her when he got up, accidently touching her when she brought him his coffee, being in her way whenever she tried to move round him...

By now Molly was becoming a little suspicious, especially when Sherlock came to stand right behind her, leaning over her to check what she was writing. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck, and she could have sworn she had felt the brush of his lips when he had made a comment on her handwriting.

Her thoughts went back to the night before when Sherlock had found her crying over her ex-fiancé' Tom. She remembered him holding her until she fell asleep. She also remembered being woken when he'd kissed her on the forehead. At first she thought she must have dreamt it. But then he'd proceeded to kiss her on the cheek, and then… her lips. How she had managed to maintain the illusion that she was asleep was beyond her.

When she'd been woken by her alarm, she'd dismissed the whole incident as nothing more than wishful thinking.

Sherlock wasn't the type to initiate physical contact. Yet in the last hour he'd purposefully touched her 22 times. What was he up to? She glanced over at him. He was now back at the microscope, his eyes apparently fixed on another sample.

Except that his gaze appeared too fixed. Was it possible that he'd touched her deliberately? It was then that it struck her, he was performing an experiment, on her. She smiled to herself. Two could play at that game.

She got up, walked over to the water cooler to get a drink. As she walked back she stopped next to Sherlock. Casually she reached out and ran her fingers lightly over the back of his neck.

Sherlock let out a surprised gasp. He turned to look at her enquiringly.

Where-upon Molly deliberately poured the contents of the paper cup over his purple shirt.

"Ooops," she said, her expression one of complete innocence.

Without a second thought Sherlock removed his suit jacket and his shirt.

Molly couldn't keep her eyes off his lean, well-toned body. But when she became aware that she was openly ogling him, she turned away in embarrassment.

Sherlock couldn't conceal his smirk of delight at her reaction. And then one eyebrow rose with surprise when he heard her mutter under her breath.

"Pity I wasn't able to get the water all over his trousers as well…"

And the more he thought about the implication of her words, the more he couldn't help agreeing, and mourning a missed opportunity. His body most definitely agreed as his tight trousers become even tighter.

"Damn!"

Molly turned to face him.

"What?"

Realising he'd spoken aloud, Sherlock immediately tried to brush it off.

"Nothing." His voice came out a little strained. He then tried to move his lower body to more comfortable position. But all that did was make the situation worse.

Molly wasn't fooled for a moment. She noted Sherlock's flushed cheeks, his increased uneven breathing and his refusal to meet her eyes.

She stepped right up to him again. This time she didn't stop until she is standing between his legs.

"Are you all right Sherlock?"

"Fine," he replied quickly, attempting to turn in his seat before discovering too late that her current position had him effectively trapped.

Molly pressed her cool hands against his forehead.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Sherlock replied, but there is an element of panic in his response.

Molly ran her fingers over his well-defined cheekbones, before moving her hands over his shoulders, rubbing her fingers gently over his sensitive nipples before moving down to his abdomen.

Sherlock couldn't contain the shudder that ran through his feverish and desperate body, or the moan that slipped past his lips.

While his brain was still capable of thought he realised that Molly has very effectively turned the tables on him.

But when he felt Molly slide her hands over the front of his now impossibly tight trousers, giving a gentle squeeze as she pressed her lips against his neck, her kisses following the path her hands had taken. Sherlock immediately decides that he's more than happy that she has done so, and he doesn't want her to stop.

Molly then moved, positioning herself so that she sat astride Sherlock. They moaned in unison as their bodies slide intimately against each other.

She rested her forehead against his, and looked him in the eye, noting his dilated pupils. Her hand resting against his chest picked up his increased heart rate.

"So," she said, her voice becoming sultry. "I think we need to take this experiment to the next stage."

Sherlock nodded.

"But before we can, we have to make a decision."

Sherlock frowned, becoming a little worried. "And that is?"

Molly grinned. "My place or yours?"