Dr John Watson's POV

Laura and Rose arrive as we finish dinner. Laura sweeps in like she owns the place, sending waiters scurrying for more chairs and drinks.

"Darling," she kisses Art on the cheek and then holds him at arm's length before hugging him to her. "How are you? What's happening?" Before he can answer she turns to Sherlock. "Have you solved it?" She is frowning, intense; Rose puts her hand on Laura's arm.

"Steady now Lo, Sherlock and John only just got here." Her soft accent and her concerned look at the rest of us bring Laura's impatience down a notch. Laura nods but still looks questioningly at Sherlock.

He looks up from his dessert and raises an eyebrow.

"Good evening Laura. I am some way towards solving the situation, yes. But my theories will need proof and evidence if they are to help Art out at all. And so, John and I are just leaving." He gets up and begins to pull out my chair. I stand up hurriedly.

"Where...?" Both Lestrade and I begin the sentence. Sherlock puts his hand into my trouser pocket and fumbles about in there for much longer than he needs to, grinning at my alarmed expression. He removes his hand and flourishes the list of Sebastian's friends. He reads the next name on the list out loud.

"Jennifer Samuels. I think she's expecting us." I hug Laura and Rose, clap Art on the shoulder, Lestrade gives me a little wave.

"We'll probably be in the bar when you get back." He says pointing through the restaurant. I nod.

In the taxi Sherlock is studying the note closely. He takes out a phone from his pocket, my phone I notice. Since his other one was broken he's reverted back to stealing mine. He taps the screen impatiently, annoyed that the technology isn't keeping up with his brain. I sneak a look at the screen, he's checking his emails. There's one from'.uk' and one from a domestic address which appears to be someone called 'JoStanley'. I have no idea about either of them.

He looks up at me, smiles and puts his hand on my knee and squeezes. I smile, amazed not for the first time by the way his smile lights up his face, animates those serious features.

"So, Jennifer Samuels, what do we know about her?" I ask him. He takes back his hand and goes back to tapping the screen, not even bothering to look up as he answers me.

"Friend of Sebastian's in London. Came rushing up here when she heard about Sebastian's death. By all accounts a lovely woman." He doesn't sound at all interested in her so I'm presuming she's just a name to cross off the list.

"What does she do?" I look out of the window at the bright lights of the city as they whizz by us.

"She runs a charity, something to do with the homeless; she was charity worker of the year in 2005." He is still tapping the screen. He gives it a final resounding poke and then puts it back in his pocket. "John, before we get there..."

"Yes?" I lean forward expecting this to be like an army briefing, don't say he's going to actually reveal his methods to me? Bloody hell.

"I think you should talk to Art about the paddle. " He sits back in his seat and gazes out of the window. I sigh, so much for briefing.

"You do? Why?" He looks back at me and fixes me with that pale blue stare. I swallow. When he speaks his voice is dark, predatory.

"Because I want to use it." I try to say something intelligent and open minded. I open my mouth.

"Oh." I say, eloquent John, really eloquent.

"And because it'll help to take his mind off all this." I sit for a moment and look at the impassive face which has just said these words. This is one of the reasons I love him. Because, in the middle of a case, whilst continuing to shock me with his sexual appetite and casual attitude to things that most people would consider taboo, Sherlock really cares. He's not a sociopath, although I can understand why people who don't know him might make the assumption. He's just not wired like the rest of us.

The rest of the journey is quiet. I run the idea about talking to Art about the paddle and about Sherlock using it thought my head. I've got to admit that, since the evening with the crop, my attitude to these kinds of things has taken quite a u turn. The memory of that night is burnt in a hot scar across my thoughts, I've found myself remembering that sting, that extreme sensation, at the most inopportune moments. But the paddle is a new idea.

For a start I can't see how it could deliver that delicious sting I now realise I am beginning to crave. But even as my mind turns over this point my body is whispering that the broad face of the paddle would burn and inflame. Oh god. I shift in my seat and Sherlock's eyes drop to my crotch and then back to my face, a slow, frightening smile curving those pointed lips. Oh bloody hell.

The cab carries us through the city streets. Although Sherlock doesn't speak he does watch me intently, occasionally wetting his lips with his sharp tongue. By the time the cab pulls in to our destination I am nearly convinced that I will enjoy the paddle. And he hasn't spoken a word.

He opens the door and gestures for me to get out while he pays the driver. I am halfway out of the door before I realise that he usually passes the money through the driver's window and that my position leaves him right behind me, but it's too late. That long fingered hand slaps down on my backside arousing that burgeoning consciousness of pain and pleasure. It stings, then burns and then he rubs over my muscles with his palm. The sensation, the idea of the action, goes right to my cock. I splutter, turn half outraged towards him and he pushes me out onto the pavement. The cab drives away and Sherlock pulls me to him, out of the pools of yellow streetlights and into the shadows between. He kisses me fiercely; I can feel his heart beating under his ribs. He releases me and puts his hands in his pockets, grinning

"Just keep that thought percolating John." he says darkly. I can do nothing but nod numbly.

It takes me a moment to stop my body fighting my brain for control. I close my eyes, take three deep breaths and then open them. The street is crowded with expensive apartment buildings. Sherlock is watching me with one arched brow.

"Ready?" He says in a far more normal voice. I nod again, he grins.

He goes to a door made from pale wood and brushed metal, it's all very Scandinavian. The voice that answers his buzz on the intercom is muffled from the static and the low quality speakers. The door hums and clicks, Sherlock pushes the door and we go in.

The atrium of the building is in the same style. The design is all angles, cut out squares in the walls harbour soft yellow lights. There's a desk for some kind of attendant but no on is manning the CCTV screens right now. The lift is a glass and veneer affair which seems to run on magic, the technology is all hidden. Only the screen which indicates the floors past which we are gliding past shows any touch of the modern world. The buttons are rounded, wooden, organic. It's like a future world or a parallel dimension where our current trend for computers and gadgets is considered vulgar.

Jennifer Samuels is waiting for us at the door of her apartment when the lift doors swish open. Her expression is warm and friendly and I instantly like her. She has green eyes under dark, sculpted brows and her mouth is humorous and slightly crooked. Jet black hair cropped into a 20s style bob falls just below her ears. She's wearing a black velvet jogging suit, obviously expensive but comfortable and her feet are bare, her scarlet toenails flash from beneath the wide hems of her trouser legs.

"Hello, you must be John and Sherlock!" she says warmly and grabs my hand. I'm not used to people noticing me first when Sherlock is around and I suppose I feel pleased when she shakes my hand firmly and then smiles at Sherlock. "Come in, I'm just pouring a drink, can I get you anything?" She turns to me and then to Sherlock and smiles again. "Beer? A spirit?"

"A beer would be great." I say and Sherlock shakes his head.

"Nothing for me thanks, I might be driving later." I look at him as she goes into what is obviously the kitchen, he winks back and I feel myself flush. Oh, driving, right.

While Jennifer is gone I take the chance to look about the room. She has some really unusual collections of art here, all in red, black and white. One piece is particularly striking. It is a painting of London, it takes up the whole wall and the entire skyline is picked out in black and red on a stark white background. It takes up an entire wall and it's the sort of thing you could look at for hours and always see something new. The colour scheme seems to spill into the other rooms I can see though an open doorway.

When Jennifer comes back with a beer for me and one for herself she sees me looking at the picture.

"It's amazing," I say standing up to get a closer look. "The detail, the colour. Who's it by?" She flicks her hair back from her cheek self consciously as she replies.

"Me. It's one of mine. Oh god, how embarrassing. I'm awful about this sort of thing, sorry. I don't usually have people up here so it's one place I didn't worry about hanging it."

"Well, I like it, it's really striking." It occurs to me that the painting is very much like its creator. I suddenly get the idea that Jennifer and Laura would love each other. There's something very dominant about her style even in those soft clothes.

Jennifer laughs uncomfortably and touches my arm.

"I am useless at compliments John. Honestly, it's cringe worthy. Let's pretend you never asked eh?" She covers her eyes with her hands, laughing and I laugh with her. I notice Sherlock is not. So does Jennifer.

"So, Sherlock, how can I help you? I'm sorry that your friend's been dragged into this dreadful situation. What an awful shock it must have been for him. How's he holding up?" She looks concerned as she sits down with her drink, indicating that we should sit down too. I pick a very square black leather armchair and Sherlock perches on the edge of the boxy, red leather sofa.

"Do you know Art?" Sherlock's voice is brusque, I look at him in surprise, his face is impassive. I know he can be rude but I just can't see why he'd treat this woman like this, after all she's grieving for her friend.

"It's very good of you to see us considering your recent bad news..." I interrupt, hoping to smooth over Sherlock's blunt manner. She smiles at me and cocks her head to one side. Then she looks at Sherlock.

"I can't help Seb now," her mouth twists up and her eyes are wide, I can tell she's trying not to cry. "But if I can help your friend then I've done something good with this whole awful situation." She presses a red nailed finger to her eye and flicks away a tear, straightening her shoulders and taking a long breath.

"So, how can I help?"

"How long did you know Seb, Jennifer?" Sherlock asks, crossing his legs. She sits back in the armchair and bites her lip, thinking.

"Ages, it must be, oh, seven years now, since university. We all studied up here you know, St Andrews. We were a bit of a gang I suppose, Seb, Luke, Tamsyn and I. Have you met Tamsyn?" She frowns and I shake my head. Sherlock looks at me sideways. "She'll be here tomorrow. We own this apartment together."

This last comment makes me feel uncomfortable and, before I get chance to analyse the sensation, my mouth asks a question.

"Are you and Tamsyn..?" I wave my hand vaguely. Jennifer laughs.

"Lovers? Oh god, no!" she chuckles again, obviously the idea is hilarious. I smile uncertainly and she leans across and touches my knee. "Sorry, I'm not laughing at you but, well, when you meet Tamsyn you'll see what I mean. We're not compatible at all. And anyway, I like men far too much." She looks at me for a long moment.

"So you knew Seb when he was with Art then?" Sherlock asks, his voice sounds cold, frostier than usual. I look at him but his face is giving nothing away. Jennifer nods.

"Don't think I ever met him though. Oh, maybe once actually, at a party. But we never talked much, but I know all about him. You couldn't be friends with Seb and not know about the amazing and gorgeous Lord Arthur Douglas." She sighs, as though she's just remembered that Seb is dead and he won't be talking about Art any more. She finishes her beer and I get the impression she's just occupying herself, distracting her brain from the horrible truth that her good friend is dead.

"So how do you share the apartment with Tamsyn?" Sherlock asks and he sounds like he's reading the questions from a list in his head.

"Her parents live up here and I come here for work but we're rarely in the city at the same time. It seemed silly to buy two places so we just bought one. It's been very convenient really." She smiles at me. Sherlock regards us both coolly. I'm concerned his lack of social grace is going to alienate Jennifer. What was I saying earlier about him being wired differently?

"Well, it's gorgeous place. What's the view like?" I get up and cross to the wide wall of windows which flanks the apartment. "Wow." I breathe as I see the vista spread out before me. The castle, lit up like something from a fairy tale, perches on its rock and the old streets of Edinburgh twinkle out below it. Jennifer is behind me, I can feel her breath on my neck; her perfume is soft and smells of roses, it's feminine and musky.

"I know. That's why we had to buy it. The views the same from the bathroom. And the bedroom." She adds. I am ultra aware of her presence, it's like her aura is a palpable, warm thing which spills out of her. "Sometimes I just run a bath and turn off the lights and look at it all."

There is no noise but a clock ticking quietly somewhere in another room. Jennifer clears her throat and finishes her beer. She takes my empty bottle from my hands.

"Another?" I nod and she smiles and goes off into the kitchen. I turn to Sherlock.

I have never seen an expression of such fury, such outrage, as there is written large on his face. His brows are pinched together, his lips in a tight knot of anger. It's so startling that I am utterly taken aback. I open my mouth to speak but Jennifer comes back with the beers and Sherlock's expression melts away as though it never existed. Indeed, its sudden disappearance leaves me wondering if it was ever there at all.

Jennifer gives me the bottle and sits down opposite Sherlock. I stay by the window, back to them both listening to their conversation but looking at the city.

"When did you get to Edinburgh?" Sherlock asks. I don't know if it's because I can't see his face or if I am only imagining the cold tone of his voice. Either way, Jennifer seems not to notice.

"Last night. I came as soon as I could, when the police phoned me. You know Seb didn't have any family." Her voice breaks a little and I turn to see her dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Sherlock's being too harsh.

I cross the room and put my hand on Jennifer's shoulder. She looks up at me, her eyes are glittering with tears and the down turn of her mouth is a sure emblem of her grief.

"I'm sorry we have to ask these questions..." I begin but Sherlock interrupts me,

"Was Sebastian the suicidal type?" He asks bluntly. Jennifer looks up at him, her cheeks slick with tears. She shakes her head, then shrugs.

"How does anyone know that? I don't know. I would have said no but, well; he had become obsessed with Arthur. Then he found out about the new boyfriend, the policeman."

I turn so my body is facing hers.

"Geoff? He found out about Geoff? How?" I ask and she twists her lips and shrugs.

"I don't know, but he came to my flat in London. He was crying and drunk. Oh god..." she starts to sob. She puts her face in her hands and I watch her shoulders heave with the power of her emotions.

I put my hand on her shoulder again. I don't know what to say. There's something so vibrant, so cheerful about her that seeing her like this, broken, is just wrong.

"Look, we should go. Thanks for helping us Jennifer; we're sorry we've upset you with our questions. Really, it was great of you to see us at such a hard time." Sherlock is already at the door.

Jennifer lifts her head. Her makeup has run and the black suit has now taken on a funereal air. She sniffs.

"Sorry John. I keep forgetting it's all really happened and then..." she shrugs again and I nod. I remember what it was like when my parents died. How guilty I felt when I forgot even for a moment.

"It's ok. It does get easier. I promise." I say to her. She nods and gives a weak smile. We let ourselves out.

Sherlock doesn't say anything to me until we are in the cab and it's me who breaks the silence anyway.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask, a little snappily because I'm still annoyed at how he treated Jennifer. He turns his head slowly; the pale eyes are huge, almost white to the pupil in this light. The effect is unsettling.

"Me? Nothing is wrong with me John, nothing at all. You, however, seem to have some things to deal with." He turns back to look out of the window. What? What the hell is he on about now?

"Eh? I have some things to deal with? What does that mean?" He doesn't look at me when he speaks. I see him lick his lips disdainfully.

"Even someone who wasn't the world's only consulting detective would have been able to see exactly what was going on between you and Miss Samuels, John." The sentence floors me. I have absolutely no idea what he is getting at. Yes you do John, whispers a guilty voice inside my head. I try to ignore it.

"I don't know what you mean. " I say flatly, my brain scouring itself for traces of inappropriate thoughts. He looks at me now and I wish he wouldn't. His gaze is cold; he's never looked at me like that before.

"I suppose I'm not used to seeing you so sexually attracted to someone else before." His tone is neutral but his eyes hold me dangerously. I get the feeling that if I make one wrong move he will pounce. I pause to think.

"You're right. I suppose I did feel attracted to her. I didn't really register it until you said that but, well, yes I suppose I did. Sorry," I add in a lame afterthought.

"You don't need to apologise to me." He says looking out of the window again. I watch the city lights distort his face and it hits me again, shocking me like it always does.

It hits me again how much I fucking love this man. How much I want him above anyone else, above anyone I have ever met and will ever meet. And now he's hurt because of some stupid pheromones. I touch his hand. It stays on his knee, unresponsive.

"Sherlock," His eyes slide to me, he doesn't turn his face and the gesture strikes me as one borne of fear. It cuts me to the quick. I kneel down in the cab, grabbing his knees to steady myself. "Sherlock." He looks at me, head back as though the distance will protect him.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't even think about it. I think I was attracted to Jennifer, Miss Samuels, but that doesn't mean anything. This, this..." I kiss him, crushing his soft lips with my mouth. "This is not about just attraction anymore. It's about everything else. I love you."

His eyes are heavy lidded, untrusting. He twists his mouth. I try harder.

"Sherlock, I love you, I find you so attractive that sometimes I think if I look at you too long I might just implode from thinking all the things I think about you." His mouth quirks up at the edge. "Bloody hell, I'm prepared to let you use the paddle..." He stops my sentence with a kiss, I feel his tongue exploring my mouth and it's like touching a battery. Electricity zips though me. I vaguely feel concern for the poor Scottish cab driver, I'm sure the London cabbies are immune now, they probably have wanted posters of us up in their offices.

He doesn't stop kissing me until the cab pulls up at the hotel and my heart is beating my blood through my body at an alarming rate. He pulls back and looks me in the eye.

"Prove it." he says darkly.

So, I managed to squeeze a chapter in when everyone was in bed. I'd be interested as always to hear what you all think. And I wanted to tell you that there's a fan meet for Sherlock on the 27th of November. I'll be there with my good friend Veritybuns and it'd be great to see you if you can make it. Pm me and I'll send you the livejournal link.

Hey Baker Street Irregulars, I love it when I get your insightful, witty and kind review s and messages. You really make this writing experience so much better. PrincessNala (tell those workmen o stop Fing with your connection!)and Peachsilk (excited!) Darmed (hoping that you're just getting better and better babes! Clubba Bear, Tasty- Kate, 2cajuman2, Tanya Zsa Zsa, Munchiees!, Aelfric's cat, Mrs winny, Despairandcupcakechild!, Mouserjb4, Tillif and Harpyquin and Jazzysatindoll (hope the thesis and the musical are going well!) thegeekyprincess and Flabagash and new girls regrette rien, afrieal and Dead Air Space! Cheers for being on this journey with me and the boys!

Love you OHOB and Reggie Cx