Molly Hooper sat at her little desk in her office downstairs, her fingers flying over the keys of her computer and her light hazel eyes trained fixedly on the pixelated screen. Her hand paused momentarily over the play button of her iPod and she listened intently for any signs of movement in the flat where her employer was at work. The noises had stopped a while ago, and while they were going on Molly had been busy singing along to Florence and the Machine at full volume in an effort to block out the cries and erotic moans of her boss performing at his best.

It wasn't that Molly harboured any feelings akin to love for Sherlock Holmes, but when his sensual voice carried down the seventeen stairs to her little pokey work space she preferred to tune it out. She didn't have any problem with what she knew was going on, she didn't mind her job, and she quite liked looking after Sherlock sometimes, although some things are best left to the imagination. She most certainly had not catalogued all of his sex noises into groups when she was bored and filed them away in the recesses of her mind for further study...

There was something peculiar about her employer's behaviour lately. He had been very keen to handle the appointment of that John Watson, even though Molly had insisted that she could take care of it. When she had opened the flat door to show the client in earlier this afternoon, Sherlock had appraised the man with a strange kind of longing in his eyes. It was unlike anything she had seen in him before, and Molly had been confused to say the least when she accidentally heard the strangled cry of "Oh Joohn!" echoing through 221B as the man reached climax. Molly admired his acting skills immensely, and she had been impressed on numerous occasions before when Sherlock could imitate real affection and passion for these people who required his services, and yet, there was something different about the way he said John's name, a weird little upwards inflection like he was questioning himself. Sherlock had never even bothered to learn his client's names before, what was special about this one which made him cry it so passionately and, dare she think it, realistically?

It had been silent upstairs for a long time now. Molly frowned, the clock on her desk said 8pm, much later than she had expected. She stood up slowly, still listening intently in case she was mistaken, but she was certain she hadn't heard the last client leave, and there hadn't been any movement in a long time. She stepped out from behind her desk and made her way to the stairs. Molly crossed the living room of the comfortable flat and paused at the door to the bedroom. She pressed her ear against the wood and listened one last time before turning the knob slowly...

What she saw when she opened that door shocked her to her core. Sherlock lay in the large bed, the sheet just hiding his naked body, with the man, John Watson, curled around him. The couple slept peacefully, their arms wrapped around each other. John had his head tucked under Sherlock's chin, and the dominatrix was smiling faintly in his sleep. Molly froze as she stared at them, dumbfounded. Sherlock shifted in an effort to get comfortable, and one pale hand slid purposefully down John's back and came to rest on his arse. The other man made a little "Hmmm" noise and cuddled even closer to her employer as Sherlock began to caress his skin shamelessly.

This was too bizarre for words, Molly cleared her throat softly, unsure whether she wanted to wake them or let them sleep. Before she could make any sort of decision, John's eyelids began to flutter as he struggled blearily into half wakefulness. Molly flinched instinctively, being caught snooping while Sherlock was with a client could cause her boss to lose the money he had made already, and she backed away to the door as quickly and quietly as she was able. The smaller man closed his eyes again, golden lashes catching the moonlight which was streaming through the window. The assistant relaxed, resolving to leave them for the night and return to wake them in the morning. Her work was completed, and she had no reason to stay and observe the pair as they slept soundly in each other's arms.

John woke early the next day, but he didn't open his eyes right away, not when there was a simply fantastic pair of lips resting against his cheek. The doctor smiled slowly, his brain still sleep muddled and gloriously docile for the small space of time in which he didn't have to think, just feel. John moved slightly so that his own lips brushed against the pair close to his face. Those lips leapt into action almost immediately, beginning to kiss him back slowly and sleepily, their bed-warmed skin soft and comforting in the velvet darkness enveloping John's vision. He sighed contentedly as he kissed these perfect, magnificent lips, and decided that it was time to face the inevitable by opening his eyes.

When John blinked blearily into the new day, he was greeted by the sharp, clear eyes of Sherlock Holmes, dominatrix, staring back at him as they continued to kiss. Neither did anything to stop what was happening, and Sherlock even let out a little groan as John traced his tongue lazily across his. John closed his eyes again and moved his hands up to cup Sherlock's face and run his fingers over those cheekbones. The dominatrix gave John's arse a playful squeeze and rolled over so that he was on top of the smaller man. Sherlock flashed a wolfish grin before moving in to kiss John's neck and nuzzle his throat affectionately. John moaned softly and arched into him.

The sweet simplicity of the moment was shattered by a loud incessant beeping which burst the companionable silence like a dagger to a water balloon. Sherlock jumped embarrassingly and his eyes darted to the alarm clock on his side table which was trilling irritatingly. The two men turned to look at one another. John met Sherlock's gaze and they looked away with a burning heat blossoming in their cheeks.

"I should go..." John said quietly, moving consciously and extracting himself from under the other man.

"Yes" Sherlock murmured distantly "yes, I think that would be for the best." They separated and John wriggled out from the covers while Sherlock sat dumbly on the bed watching him dress.

John straightened up awkwardly with his trousers clutched to his chest. "Would you mind not..."

"What?" Sherlock snapped more harshly than he intended.

"Looking at me, like that" John finished, looking away and pulling on his boxers where he found them on the floor.

The dominatrix grimaced. "Oh, right." He turned his back and closed his eyes, tugging the sheet tighter around him.

He heard his client clear his throat and Sherlock threw his head over his shoulder to glance at him. John stood uncomfortably in front of the door, fully dressed with his jumper folded in his arms. Neither spoke for what felt like an age. Sherlock swung his legs over the end of the bed and sat fully exposed before the other man. John looked away.

The dominatrix stood slowly and walked over to the door. He stopped very close to the doctor and watched him carefully as he reached behind him and unhooked the silk dressing gown from its peg on the back of the door. Sherlock swirled the garment around his body and tied the sash, quirking an eyebrow as John swallowed thickly. Without a word, the tall man swept out of the room and stalked into the kitchen with John following.

Sherlock stopped in the centre of the living room and John chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Thank you" He whispered. The other man still remained silent. John looked at the front door wistfully and began to walk towards it at a leisurely pace.

The doctor sighed; he didn't know what he had been hoping for, some sort of declaration of love, affection? He should have listened to that little voice, should have stopped himself when it became too much.

"John?" Sherlock said, in his head it was a scream, a guttural choking cry which encompassed all the emotion he had been holding back for so long, trying to find some way of making the agony of loneliness and despondence go away for good.

John paused, a sound so slight it was little more of a breath drifting in the space between them when Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"Yes?" He said, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

Sherlock swallowed, his chest hollow and his head light and airy. He pretended there were no feelings, no weight of confusion and distress overwhelming him, he was a master at pretending, and it had always been what he did best. He saw John stopping, and so desperately wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear, what Sherlock wanted to say.

"Goodbye" He whispered.

John closed his eyes and walked away. He didn't look back.

Sorry it's a short one! Thank you so much for the reviews/alerts/favorites etc, I appreciate every bit of feedback I get, good or bad, and its very kind of you to take the time to read and appraise my writing. ~K