While watching the Sherlock special, I couldn't help, but think of this little diddy, and finally decided to finish it. Though, it didn't turn out exactly the way I had thought, it did turn out pretty well, so I hope you enjoy it!

THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT! IT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME! :)

Please remember to review at the end! :)

Description: Scene in the Gazebo in the Abominable Bride: Watson asks Sherlock if he has had any sexual encounters, and Sherlock gets lost in his mind palace, remembering a tryst with a certain pathologist. (SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE ABOMINABLE BRIDE!)

RATED SLIGHT M

"Surely you've had…" Watson asked, watching his friend and colleague with interest.

Sherlock swallowed, knowing what his friend meant. He wanted to smile, but that would give too much away, and he wasn't ready for them to know.

He wasn't ready for them to know about her.

About them.

"Had what?" He asked, looking out the window over Watson's shoulder.

"Impulses." Watson remarked after stuttering.

Sherlock stood up, and closed his eyes. "Oh, dear Lord, how I wish for a confrontation with the bride!" He exclaimed, shaking his head.

Previous days passed through his mind as he recalled how he had discovered with painful remembrance that she was in fact a woman making her place in a man's world, and how their animosity had resulted in a shocking interlude in the mortuary, which led to a long, wonderful, and memorable night at his flat.

He closed his eyes even more, picturing her, and how wonderful she felt against him, pushing against his waist, setting him on fire, hardening his shaft with just a single touch.

A smile touched his lips unconsciously, and his mind wondered for a brief moment.

"If you had any sense at all, you would know that the bride could not possibly come back from the grave." He nearly shouted, glaring at the pathologist.

Hooper crossed 'his' arms over his chest. "I have enough sense to know that someone could have faked it, Holmes." 'He' stated, moving around the table to meet the consultant detective head on.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and began to take a closer look at the man in front of him. His eyes widened as he lowered his head, and realized with stark lightening that he wasn't a man at all. His heart began to beat faster in his chest, and in one swift movement, he grasped Hooper's face, and kissed him.

Hooper gasped for an instant, but then melted into Sherlock's embrace, allowing 'his' arms to encircle the tall man's neck.

Sherlock pulled back, and smiled as he gazed into Hooper's glazed filled eyes. "Why did I not see it before?" He asked, shaking his head.

Hooper blinked a few times, and let her feminine voice come out. "See what?" She asked, lightly.

Sherlock smiled, and touched her mustache. "That you are a woman, a very brilliant woman." He whispered, letting his voice hit a baritone note.

Hooper swallowed, and wanted to pull back, but her position wouldn't allow it.

"What is your first name?" He asked, after a few moments of gazing into her eyes.

"Molly," She whispered, breathlessly.

He smirked, and bent his head. "Pleasure to meet you, Molly Hooper." He whispered, feeling her shiver in his arms at the sound of his voice, just before his lips crashed onto hers once again.

She melted into his arms, gasping as he lifted her causing her legs to wrap around his waist. She felt her back hit the stone wall behind her, and she gasped just as he pulled back.

"Forgive me, Molly Hooper." He whispered, panting as he spoke.

She touched his face, and shook her head. "For what?" She asked, searching his eyes.

"For acting like a pompous fool, I should have seen this sooner." He answered, letting his eyes convey his regret.

She shook her head, and smiled. "I won't tell if you won't." She whispered, watching him smile, before his lips captured hers in a powerful, stirring kiss.

Their mouths opened as they each accepted an invitation from the other, and allowed their tongues to brush against the others.

Sherlock felt her hum and moan, and couldn't stop smiling against her lips. He loved the sound, he realized. He loved hearing her moan, and move her hips over his, trying to make contact with him, but here…in the morgue?

That would not do.

Pulling back, he lifted his eyes to hers, and touched her silky smooth face, lightly grazing her button nose. "Not here," He whispered, setting her gently down on her feet. "Bakerstreet, now." He added, backing away, only pausing to grab his cloak and hat.

Molly stood against the wall, and tried to catch her breath. Was he serious?

He turned at the door, looking irritated as he waited for her, and she straightened, and quickly rushed to his side, grabbing her coat and hat as well, before following him out the door.

The ride back to his flat was long and unnerving. Sherlock reached over, and grasped her hands with his right, and squeezed them with a tender motion.

The cab stopped outside his home, and though he wanted to be a gentleman, he couldn't act on it, for it would give her charade away, and that he could not allow.

Instead, he marched into the house, trusting her to follow him, and felt his heart pound with relief as he heard her small gait follow him inside.

He knew Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, for which he was thankful. He didn't know how he could explain this, but knew he didn't have to.

As soon as the door closed, he gathered Molly in his arms, and carried her up the stairs, letting her head rest on his shoulder, and her face nuzzle her neck with a soft kiss at the base.

He carried her to the bedroom, and gently sat her down on top of the covers. He straightened, and shrugged off his coat, and tossed his hat to the side, making a mental note to put them up properly after he had finished with her, but that may take a while. He added in his mind.

Placing his hand beside her, he used his free hand to remove the moustache from her face, with a tender smile.

"I prefer to see your actual face, Molly Hooper." He whispered, watching her smile as her disguise was removed, along with her wig, allowing her chestnut hair to cascade into a halo around her.

"Much better," He muttered, before taking her lips with his, and moved to lay down beside her, just letting his hands move over her face, into her hair, and over her still clothed body. All the while, making notes of each contour, shiver, and moan she gave.

Soon, their clothes were gone, cast aside in desperation to get closer. To fulfill the yearning they had discovered was always there, but due to society, they had refused to act, until now.

Gazing down into her eyes, he smiled, and watched as she smiled in return, lifting her legs to surround his waist.

With a smile, he aligned his shaft against her wet opening, and gazing into her eyes, he pushed forward.

"Holmes, Holmes!"

Sherlock jerked out of his mind palace of memory, and turned his head to find Watson gazing at him with a bewildered look on his face. "What is it?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

John slowly shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. "You whispered a name. Well, moaned it actually."

Sherlock shook his head, and scoffed. "I most certainly did not." He stated, watching his friend lift his brows, and nod.

"Yes, you did, Holmes. You said, 'Molly'." Watson remarked, tilting his head to the side. "Who's Molly?" He asked, watching his friend closely, trying to deduce who the woman could be.

Sherlock hid his surprise, effortlessly, and turned away from his friend. "A special friend, Watson. That's all you need to know." He answered, but John didn't miss the secret smile on the detective's face, and for a moment he couldn't stop the smile on his.

Please be kind!

Remember if you have any requests, you may send them in! Loved to hear from you!

Until Next Time...