It was December, no one had seen Kitty for 4 months now. Mrs Hudson had received a mysterious phone call one evening, saying she had gone to stay with old friends back up on the Scottish border. There was something she hadn't trusted about the voice on the other end .She had even gone down to Scotland Yard and appealed to Lestrade to use his contacts to check up on her.

'Not my division' he'd grunted with a mouthful of cake, kicking back his feet on his cluttered desk.

John had worried, for the first week or so, but he'd been busy. He had finally moved on, suddenly realising Sherlock was gone and not coming back, but he'd been having so much fun with Mary he had sometimes forgot all about it. She had helped him see the light, to leave the past behind him. The pain had almost completely gone, almost. He found it weird that she never text, even Mary hadn't heard from her.

The thick snow crunched beneath his heavy steps. Fresh flakes floated down from the miserable grey sky and created a pure white dusting over his coat. Oh Kitty, poor, lucky Kitty trapped in this hell hole of relief, suffering and happiness. He envied her. The cold had frozen the air, it was hard to breath. Sherlock knew it wouldn't be much warmer inside the building looming in front of him. He pulled his collar up high up to his ears, attempting to warming them. He grinned slightly as he reached out to open the door

Meanwhile she was curled up, her back against the wall, he chin resting in her knee which she hugged to her chest. Her head span, she had soon given in to the pressure of Bill and the others. Now she couldn't imagine her life without that cigarette between her fingers, that glorious feeling of sleep and release she got. But it hadn't taken the pain away. That pain that had receded from her whole body and had concentrated deep in her heart and stomach, for the few hours of joy she got each time she inhaled the fumes it seemed to go away, just to come back moments later. She had no idea how long she had been in that place. Her phone and clothes had been snatched away.

She was so cold. It was a different cold than she had ever felt. Her body shivered, she was finding it hard to breath. Her legs were bare and she wore a shirt someone had thrown to her, it smelt old and musty, she hadn't washed since she had arrived, the smell turned her empty stomach. She was all alone, she should've been scared, anything could happen. She had become so lost in her thoughts she didn't hear slow footsteps approaching the room. It wasn't until the door began to creak open that she jumped up, suddenly becoming afraid.

'Shit shit shit' she uttered to herself. She squirmed, she hadn't the energy to move, instead she drew in a lungful of fumes from the cigarette in her hand, making her relax further into the wall. Exhaling it she watched the smoke dance about, wisps dancing in the cold air before disappearing. She had already forgotten about the creaking door, she turned to see a figure. It stood, rigid, in the doorframe. Silhouetted in the orange light of the winter evening.

'Hello'

No. It couldn't have been. She was dreaming. The figure advanced towards her, light illuminated his jagged cheekbones and jaw. Those cold, soft eyes looked at her. She called out into the darkening room.

'S-S-Sherlock'

She was only a few feet away but to Sherlock she sounded distant. Steadying herself she rose to her feet and stumbled over to the figure which stood in the blade of sunlighlight. I was him. Placing her hands on his chest, he was so warm. Her hands slipped round his waist, she hugged him tightly. Sherlock didn't know what to do, he just stood there and patted her head with a smile. Pulling away she saw his face. He was alive, he was there, in front of her. Before she knew it she had smacked him across the face. He gasped and held his burning cheek in his hand.

'YOU BASTARD,' she squealed,' WHAT IS THIS GAME YOU INSIST ON PLAYING WITH-'

She stopped. Sherlock had bent down and rested his lips lightly on her cheek. They stayed there, brushing her ear

'I want you to teach me' his whispered, I made her spine shiver. She let out a breath.

'What? I don't, erm, understand' Kitty's voice was a whisper too.

'Sex,' his voice was nothing more than deep gravel which sent shivers down Kitty's spine. He looked from her tired eyes, to her parted lips.

….

Sherlock lay on the mattress. Kitty straddled his hips, brushing her hair from her face. She looked different in the darkness of the hellish room. Yet, she was still so beautiful, her features pained and aged by the poisons she had put into her body. He could, no, he would save her. He held Kitty's hips with shaking hands, a hint of fear in his eyes he had never done anything like this before. Though he didn't know it, Sherlock Holmes was about to have a lesson on sex.

'Kitty…I…I…' he stuttered. Kitty placed her bony finger on his parted lips.

'Shh don't talk, just let me show you' Kitty placed her finger on his lips, her eyes, so innocent yet so sad. Her perfect hips then began to move in the most hypnotic manor, Sherlock failed to stifle a pleased moan. His large hands caressing her lean thighs, her hands moved to unbutton his purple shirt. Sherlock, the machine, the cold hearted, uncaring man had never felt more alive than he did at that moment.

His hands cupped her fragile, perfect, face. Pulling her down for a passionate kiss he slipped his hand under her top. His cold heart had practically shattered in two, for all he knew, to her, this was all a hallucination. He was nothing but a memory. He grew angry and grunted slightly as he ripped the top, leaning up his pulled of his thick jacket and his now open shirt revealing his pale chest and muscular torso.

With a deep breath Kitty began to undo his belt and zipper, pushing his trousers to his knees, only black boxer briefs left between her and the hardening length that belonged to this, ridiculous man. She pulled them down, gasping softly, she took him in her hand and stroked him, not leaving an inch untouched. With a soft groan Sherlock began to panic, what he meant to do now? Somehow those videos he had frequently come across on John's laptop didn't seem to help, it was all too new. Acting on impulse he cupped her breasts in his hands, kneading them like a ball of dough. After minutes of teasing she raised herself off him, and with a deep breath, lowered herself onto him moaning.

'O-oh,' her breath hitched getting higher, she took him in slowly, once she had taken him in fully, her eyes had closed, and his too. To the pair, time stood still for the rest of the night.