Been busy, busy this weekend and going into a busy week (though I'm looking forward to seeing Hamlet at the cinema soon). I ended up rushing the editing if this chapter in order to get it to you today so apologies if there are any errors. Feel free to point them out and I'll back-track and alter when I have more time.

Chapter 4

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he viewed the first picture. On seeing it he recognised it as the one he had seen on her kitchen table so why was she so concerned about him seeing it. It was a drawing of a hand, a male hand and on closer inspection it looked to be covering a breast. Maybe that was why she was so embarrassed. He sat on the edge of the bed and moved the picture round. It was only when he placed his own hand on the bed next to the picture that he was hit by a realisation.

It was his hand! His mouth fell open in shock as his eyes flitted back and forth between the sketch and his hand. She really had captured it very well, it was most definitely his, the slim fingers, the shape of the fingernails; everything drawn to perfection.

He then looked closer at the body the hand was covering but he couldn't get much from it other than it was female and the hand, his hand, was covering her breast. Most of the body hadn't been drawn it was just the hand and one side of the unknown female's chest in isolation.

He found his fingers curling almost wanting to feel that warm, malleable flesh underneath them. In his minds eye it was Molly's breast, he knew it without having any evidence to back it up and he felt a sudden surge of want and need. He wanted to touch her, to know what that felt like. It stunned him.

He was almost afraid to turn the page not sure he should see what was there but he couldn't not. He had to know.

The second picture was The Kiss, the statue he'd been viewing only a few hours before and yet it wasn't. This time it was less of a shock but still felt just as visceral. Instead of a nameless couple it was them; himself and Molly, naked and entwined around each other kissing. He couldn't look away. Images tumbled over and over in his mind of Molly, her face, her smile, the curve of her neck, the delicate structure of her collarbones.

It was at that moment that he was thrust from his thoughts by the knowledge that he was no longer alone in the flat. Before he could even move the bedroom door opened and Molly burst in laughing and talking to someone behind her.

He saw her turn her head at the realisation that the light was already on, the shock on her face. It was as though he were seeing her in slow motion. Her eyes widened and he saw her look between him and the art book a blush of both anger and embarrassment spreading across her cheeks.

'Oh my God, Sherlock. What the hell...'

A male voice could be heard in the front room, 'Hey, is everything alright?' A guy came up behind her and frowned as he saw Sherlock.

'Who the hell is this, you said you were single? Is this some kind of weird crap because I'm really not into threesomes, well not with another guy anyway.'

Molly seemed to be reeling with confusion between them. 'What, no! I can't believe you broke in here Sherlock! This is my home, my personal space... I should call the police and have you arrested. You've been through my stuff, this...this is private.'

At that statement the other guys hands fisted, he started to muscle his way past Molly and Sherlock stood in readiness although he already knew he had nothing to fear from an untrained, unfit office worker. 'You've broken in...who the fuck are you?'

Sherlock couldn't help but feel insulted that he was being interrogated by some one night stand that Molly had clearly picked up from her night out, he said as much and then ducked as the guy took a swing at him.

He glanced at his watch, 'hmm, past midnight. I suggest you hurry home to your wife. She'll be wondering where you are, business meetings don't tend to last this long and the last tube leaves in fifteen minutes to Dulwich or should that be Dullsville.'

At the same time as the guy said, 'how the hell did you know that?' Molly turned in horror, 'you're married! God you creep, get out. Get out of my flat.' She pushed on the man's chest and he turned as though surprised to see her there, 'me, get out. What about him? He fucking broke in.'

'Yes, well he can get out too.' She grabbed at Sherlock's sleeve and pulled him out of the bedroom as the other man was being pushed along in front of her. Both men protesting for different reasons.

As she slammed the door behind them both Sherlock drew himself up to his full height trying to look more dignified than he actually felt at being slung out of Molly's apartment like that. The other guy just took off down the stairs with a 'fuck that' leaving Sherlock to leave at a more leisurely pace though his mind felt less than calm.

He soon managed to raise a cab and get back to Baker St and when he did he changed out of his suit, wrapped his dressing gown around him and threw himself down onto the settee, finally free to let his mind whirl.

He went back to that moment in her bedroom when he'd realised it was his hand. Why had he been so surprised that she should draw him...after all he'd always known about Molly's crush. But that was it wasn't it, he'd always belittled and dismissed her feelings for him, pushing them away and not acknowledging them. Why?

The answer? It was easier for him if he didn't think about Molly too much, if he compartmentalised her as a friend and a work colleague it was safer. Safer for both of them. But he felt as though that had all been blown wide open now. The lid that he'd kept on his feelings and on his sexuality had been torn off when he'd viewed those images. Now all he could think about was himself and Molly naked, kissing, touching each other. They'd always been in him, these feelings, tucked away at the back of his mind, ignored but now they were front and central and he didn't think he had it in him to push them back down.

He groaned and fisted his hands rubbing at his eyes acutely aware that his traitorous body was reacting to all the thoughts and images running through his head.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly was in shock. Her night had turned out very different from the one she'd expected. After she'd thrown out Sherlock and Michael God was that even his name, the two-timing creep she'd changed into her comfiest most unsexy pyjamas and made herself a cup of cocoa and now she sat in her bed wondering if she would ever be able to face Sherlock ever again.

She was still angry with him for breaking in but that initial burst of adrenaline and rage had dissipated and she had been left feeling confused, hurt and more than anything embarrassed. Not only had Sherlock found her sketches, the private ones that she'd drawn of her innermost fantasies but he'd caught her bringing home a one night stand for sex.

Molly wasn't particularly proud of the fact that she picked men up for sex, and she didn't do it often. But after the whole episode with Tom she knew she shouldn't hurt anyone else by trying to embark on a relationship when her heart belonged to someone else. And did it have to be that someone else who had discovered her secrets. He must be disgusted with her on both counts.

She determined there and then to give herself a break from Sherlock until her humiliation and anger had subsided a little.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock ended up spending all night in his mind palace. He felt as if his whole world was being tilted on its axis. In one fell swoop everything he thought he understood about himself was being called into question by the simple realisation that he had feelings for Molly Hooper.

It wasn't as straight forward as acknowledging them and deciding to act on them. Sherlock had spent the last decade and more devoting himself one hundred percent to his work. In his world there was no place for love, for emotions or for relationships.

But that was before. It was an easy concept to live by when there was nothing or no one to challenge it.

The question was now that he knew how he felt was he prepared to do anything about it. He spent all night with this conundrum rolling around and around in his mind. His first thought had been that he would just continue his life as it was. Why should he change for sentiment mixed with physical wants and desires? These things were beneath him. It was intolerable that he should be driven by anything so base as sexual attraction. It was all just chemicals and hormones.

The problem was that that decision just left him dissatisfied and empty. He found himself not wanting to let her go, at least not so easily. Surely he owed it to himself and her to at least consider the possibility of them being together. And so he did. He imagined being with Molly. Not in a sexual way, at least he didn't think of that straight away. No, he imagined just spending time with her. The two of them simply enjoying each other's company; sharing a conversation, enjoying a meal, just being there for each other.

It was almost too easy. It was an extension of the friendship they already shared. He thought back to that night recently when they'd shared chips together and how effortless the whole evening had been. It had been one of the most enjoyable evenings he'd had in a long while.

But that was a long way away from a romantic relationship. Sherlock felt his face twist in disgust even as the words passed through his thoughts.

The physical side worried him. He was no virgin, whatever Moriarty had thought. In that he had been very wrong, but it had been years and it had never been an emotional act, always just a physical release. One that he had learned to live without, at least with other people. It was so tied up in his mind with his drug use that he wasn't even sure what drug or alcohol free sex was like.

He tried to picture being with Molly in that way. He conjured her up in his mind; her fresh, make-up free face in front of him; those warm, trusting brown eyes looking into his, a small and oh so familiar smile playing on her lips.

He imagined himself bending his head to hers; his lips meeting hers and in that moment he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before. It was too much for him to suppress and too attractive for him to walk away from. He had no choice; he had to have her if he could and Sherlock was nothing if not decisive. Once his mind was made up he moved forward on that basis, there was no going back.

He opened his eyes in the early morning light of his flat and he watched the dust motes floating in the rays of golden light starting to peek through the gaps in the curtains. The question now was whether, after last night, Molly would still want him.

What do you think guys...will she still want him? How hard a time should she give him? I'll try and update on Wednesday. Til then...