Hello dearests!
Sorry to keep you waiting! I've been very busy and I will be even more busy in the coming weeks, as I'm preparing to move to Geneva.

In other words, do not expect regular updates!

BUT, to soothe the pain, here is an extra long chapter, and quite an important one...

Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock, not mine.

Chapter 21: 221B

Olivia hadn't planned on calling Mr Holmes when she was running down the street, hearing her dad's angry yelling grow softer behind her. It had already gone dark, the temperature had dropped to just below zero degrees, and she was glad she still had her coat on. Her gloves and hat were still lying where she'd dropped them on the kitchen table though, so she wiped her tears away and stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, thinking of a warm place to go as the adrenaline rush faded.

The shops on Oxford Street promised warmth and distraction. Christmas was only a month away and every window display was dominated by impressive decorations. Hoards of people rushed by her, hurriedly doing some shopping before heading home for dinner.

It was only when she looked at one of the displays and saw her reflection in the window that she noticed the lower half of her face was covered in blood. The adrenaline in her veins hadn't made her aware of her nose bleeding. There was no pain, but the sticky red liquid was already soaking the front of her coat. The awful sight of her own state almost made her cry again, but realising she had to take care of herself, she took some deep breaths and entered a drugstore to find something to wipe her face with. The lady behind the counter rushed towards her, not to ask what was wrong it turned out, but to briskly tell her to get out of her store, basically pushing her back outside, saying something about frightening other customers.

For a moment she stood on the sidewalk, thinking whether she should ruin her coat even more and wipe it with her sleeve. She felt lucky when a young woman walking past took pity on her and handed her a pack of handkerchiefs. It took a while before no blood appeared on the paper and she was satisfied. At least she didn't look like a girl from a horror movie anymore. She turned her collar up and thought about her possibilities, which weren't very many.

It was certain that Rose's or Lucy's parents would call her father and drive her home immediately when they noticed how concerned he was. Mr Watson's phone number was in her wallet in her bag at home. She didn't know the number of the uncle in Bristol either. Mr Holmes' number was in her bag as well, but she had looked at the piece of paper so often that she knew it by heart. His behaviour in the past few weeks had not exactly suggested he wanted to have anything to do with her. She would rather die than call him. She literally had nowhere to go.

She continued looking at the shops, wandering inside, watching other people do their Christmas shopping and enjoyed the warmth, until she was asked to leave again on account of the closing time. Wandering around for another two hours, looking at the displays in the windows, the cold wind sliced through her clothes fast, and her stomach started grumbling painfully.

Eventually, she walked into a side street, next to one of the big department stores and stopped. With her back leaned against the wall and her hands cramped from the cold, the tears started coming.

"Hi there sweetie. Why are you crying?" A middle-aged man had noticed her tears and was approaching her.

"Can I help you? Do you need to call someone?" His grey eyes expressed concern and Olivia had no idea what to say to him. Her mother's endless warnings about talking to strange men whirled through her head. Should she yell at him? He was polite and he seemed genuinely concerned, though. Should she accept that she needed any help she could get? How could she ever know whom to trust?

The man was close now and her lifted a hand to touch her shoulder.

"Did someone hurt you? I can take you to your home if you want."

She flinched and backed away from him. "Stay away from me! I don't need any help!"

Running away from him she could hear him yell.

"Be careful then! You'll freeze if you stay out in this cold!"

She'd found a phone booth and with trembling fingers she had dialled, using one of the few loose coins in her pocket, and willed him to pick up. Being ready to die before calling her teacher because he was jerk sounded a bit ridiculous now.

Waiting in the booth for him, she watched her own breath evaporate in small clouds. His voice had sounded worried through the phone, or had it been angry? She was too cold to worry about what he would do. She was just grateful when within less than 10 minutes a black cab came to a halt at the sidewalk. When he stepped out, his icy blue stare looked warm compared to how she was feeling. Seeing his familiar tall figure with his long dark coat comforted her.

As she went outside and approached the car, he simply held the door open and helped her get inside. She shifted over to the other side to make space for him, but her muscles were sore and stiff from the cold. When he got in he wrapped his coat around her shoulders and said to the cabbie: "Baker Street."

Then, he turned towards her.

"I di-dn't n-notice a-anything before," she stammered before he could say something. Her teeth chattered.

"Why did you let yourself get all hypothermic before calling me?" he said as he frowned over her cramped up body.

She shrugged her shoulders and avoided his stare. He felt her tremble as he drew her gently against his side, abandoning the keepingmydistance strategy for the moment, hoping to warm her up as quickly as possible.

It was long past peak hour and they cab stopped at number 221 within a few minutes. Sherlock paid the cabbie and helped Olivia out of the car. He quickly unlocked the door and led her up the stairs towards his flat. Mrs Hudson, who heard clearly Sherlock come back with a visitor, stuck her head out into the hallway to see who it was. "Tea, Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouted from the top of the stairs without looking back, familiar with her curiosity for his guests.

A couple of inches of the Belstaff coat dragged over the rug as Olivia stepped inside flat B, her big brown eyes taking in her surroundings. It felt surreal to Sherlock that she was in his home. He didn't like mixing his private world with that of the school, but he wouldn't ever turn Olivia away, however disagreeable it might be. He was suddenly very glad he kept it relatively tidy these days. Well, clean at least.

He stalked to the fireplace he hardly ever used in order to generate some heat in the room. It started crackling relatively quickly. When he got up and turned around he found her watching him, still standing in the middle of the room, trembling with her hands completely covered by the sleeves of his coat. She seemed to relax a little as the fire suggested he wasn't going to make her leave soon.

Sherlock walked over to her and gently removed his heavy coat from her shoulders. After throwing on a chair, he hesitated for a moment whether to take her coat as well.

That's when he noticed the blood.

The Belstaff had concealed most of the stains when they were in the cab, but now he could see the crimson that had leaked on hers, faint stains of which could still be seen on the skin of her neck. Automatically his hand shot forward to lift her chin so he could inspect it more closely.

"What's this? You said you weren't hurt."

"It was just a random nose bleed," she said in a small voice, and he didn't comment further. Olivia was relieved to notice that he wasn't as menacing to her like he was in class. He wore the same severe frown, but his movements and touches were light and gentle.

"Take off your coat," he commanded.

She obeyed and he threw it on top of his own before leading her into the kitchen. He flicked on the light, revealing a cluttered mess that vaguely resembled a laboratory. The furniture looked a bit old, but as he rummaged through a cabinet, Olivia noticed that the test tubes and glass equipment on the table was well kept and clean. There was no sign of food or cooking whatsoever.

When he had found what he was looking for, he turned, and his eyes fell onto her jumper, which also displayed several deep red stains at the collar.

Impatiently, he gestured for her to take it off as well. She drew the soft fabric over her shoulders and head, leaving shivering her in her white buttoned up shirt. Even though her body was still almost completely covered, she felt exposed to his penetrating gaze. Satisfied, he turned to the tap and soaked the washing cloth he had been holding.

She almost flinched when he came back and raised it to her face, but it was warm and soft. He was careful not to touch her nose, but she could feel the strength in his hands. Even though he probably didn't mean it to be particularly pleasurable, having someone strong and protective take care of her like that felt incredibly soothing.

"Top buttons," he murmured when he got to her neck, and she managed to get two of them open, exposing the skin on her throat and collarbones. Her body tensed as his gentle strokes washed away the blood that had gathered at the edges of her clothing. If she hadn't been this cold, or upset, she'd definitely be aroused.

Olivia was unable to meet his eyes for too long, and gazed up. A big jar on top of the fridge came into view and her eyes widened.

"A-are those eyes?"

He didn't reply, just concentrated on washing her.

When the dried blood was gone, his fingers carefully turned her head side to side to check for any type of damage. Satisfied that there were no injuries, he let go and handed her a towel to dry herself.

"Sit by the fire, you're freezing."

Olivia sat down and scooted close to the fire, slowly regaining some feeling in her limbs. The radiating heat felt so good that she took her shoes off to warm her feet as well, hoping he wouldn't consider it to be ill mannered.

The sitting room reminded her of children's stories, where a wise old person would live in a cluttered house, offering refuge or advice to the young protagonist. The number of books that surrounded her was impressive, and the various objects perched on shelves raised a lot of questions, many of which she wouldn't dare to ask.

Olivia started as she noticed him, standing against the wall in the entrance to the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest, observing from a distance.

He moved to open the door when footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

"I assumed it was just for two, but if you need-… Oh hello."

For a moment, Olivia wondered if the old lady that entered the living room with a tea tray was Mr Holmes' mother.

"Mrs Hudson, Olivia. Olivia, Mrs Hudson."

"Lovely to meet you dear," she said with a warm smile as she set the tray down on the coffee table. She looked quite old but her hands were steady, pouring her a cup of tea. "It's good to see that Sherlock's having visitors again, makes him keep the place tidy. Please have a biscuit. You look like you could use some sugar."

Olivia caught Mr Holmes' eye-roll from the corner of her eye. She picked up a biscuit.

"Are you the housekeeper?"

Mrs Hudson chuckled.

"No my dear. I am Sherlock's landlady, but he conveniently forgets the difference regularly."

While she was distracted, Mr Holmes had slipped out the door, leaving her alone with the old lady. Through Mrs Hudson's chatter she could hear him talk on the phone in the hallway and her face fell, worried it was her father on the other side.

Mrs Hudson noticed her change of mood.

"It's good of you to come here, dear. I'm sure he'll help you with whatever it is you're struggling with," she said.

"He might seem a bit grumpy at times, and his manners are appalling, but he's a good young man really. A heart of gold, although he'll never admit it."

Olivia gave a strained smile and picked up the steaming cup of tea that had been set in front of her. At that moment, Mr Holmes stepped back into the room.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson, now go back to your knitting, that scarf you were making looked lovely," he said, impatiently rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

She glowed a little at his compliment. "Oh, you noticed? Of course you did. I thought it would go very well with your eyes."

"And it's already freezing outside. No time to waste. Off you go." He basically pushed her out the door, and Olivia sympathised with Mrs Hudson's feelings about his manners.

When Mrs Hudson was gone, he paced the living room for a bit, deep in thought, while she sipped her tea. Finally he sat down in the armchair opposite her, undoing the button on his jacket before proceeding to stare. Her presence in his home was becoming to feel less foreign to him. Her shivering was getting less and she seemed quite comfortable, sipping her tea, although a bit weary about the proceedings from now, he deduced.

"Did you call him?" she asked softly.

"I decided it would be better to let Mr Watson know where you are. I've told him to go and visit your father right away."

"Oh…"

"Don't worry about that right now. Tell me what happened," he said, as if it was that simple.

She swallowed as she thought of her dad, who she was about to betray once again to somebody who she had only known a couple of months. She tried to think of how to explain what happened.

"Well?" Sherlock frowned slightly, all but tapping the armrest with his fingertips.

"It's not something horrible. I shouldn't have run away."

"It was enough to upset you."

She nodded, looked away, and carefully cradled the warm teacup in her hands.

"He was upset when I got home. He was angry because wanted something he couldn't find. I don't remember what. He wasn't making any sense and his eyes looked really strange, really big. When I asked about it he admitted he was… he had taken something. But I don't know what it was. I looked but there was nothing there that I could have flushed away."

Mr Holmes' features had softened again, like she noticed happened more often.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"Just that… he needed it. He said it was medication but I didn't believe him. We got into a fight." Her voice almost disappeared as she remembered his angry voice calling after her down the street. Olivia felt the tears in her throat, but refused to let them take her voice completely.

"He said that it was helping him and that it wouldn't change anything."

She looked up at Mr Holmes who was silent. His eyes were following her every gesture, expression, and draw of breath.

"Maybe it was too hard for him to stop so suddenly. He had to do so many things at home too. Maybe-"

"Wait there," Sherlock interrupted. "Are you blaming yourself for his relapse?"

"No I just… what if I'd done the groceries at least, or cooked for him-"

Sherlock had now actually started tapping the armrest with his hand. "Oh stop it! I can't listen to you utter such nonsense. You're cleverer than that. He is not the victim of the fact that he has a child to take care of. He's a grown man for Christ's sake. It's his own decision to intoxicate himself." There was nothing left of the softness now, only anger in his face.

Olivia knew he was right, but it bothered her that someone spoke like that about her father.

"But he lost his wife!"

"And he will lose his daughter if he keeps this up."

She opened her mouth to counter him, but couldn't find anything to say. She knew she was making excuses for her dad, justifying his behaviour, but Mr Holmes' harsh words were painful. A couple of tears were making their way down her cheeks.

"Did he beat you? Your nosebleed was not random and your left cheek is red," he said accusingly.

She shook her head quickly. "No, he slipped on the ice by our front door. It was an accident."

There were silent for few minutes while Sherlock envisioned the tumble on the slippery stones in front of her house. His insides boiled in rage as he thought of the man who had too much control over Olivia's life and so little over his own. Frowning at the fireplace, he fantasised about hearing the man's skull crack on those same icy stones. His thoughts were consumed by his anger until he heard her breath hitch.

She was curled up in the corner of the sofa now, her feet folded underneath her, and her face buried in her arms. Sherlock didn't completely understand her weeping, but the sight made him desperate to make it right, to easy her sadness. He couldn't leave her sitting there like that. But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Finally he decided to act on instinct and got up to sit next to her on the edge of the sofa. When he stroked her hair she looked up and her red, tear-streaked face became visible.

"Is there something else you want to tell me?" he asked as he pulled his hand away, keeping his distance.

She inhaled deeply through her trembling mouth in an attempt to calm herself.

"I'm scared they will put me in foster care."

"You still want to live with your father?"

She nodded, lips pressed together. Her voice was gone.

Why she would want to live with such a weak excuse for a father was beyond him, but he tried not to show his incomprehension. He couldn't exactly say he knew what it was like to have a close family connection, especially with his father. What he did know was that he wanted her to be able to decide what happened to her life.

"If that's your choice I will try to do everything I can to make it happen."

He wasn't lying. If there was something he hated, it was people making decisions for others who were perfectly capable of making them themselves. He would help her stay with her father, provided she was safe.

His words seemed to calm her down a bit. She was wiping her face with her sleeves.

"You're warm now. Get some rest," he said as he got up.

Olivia nodded, stretched her legs on the sofa and laid her head on the armrest, making herself comfortable. He had shown her a glimpse of his old, kinder demeanour, giving her hope that he would not act like a jerk forever. Her longing for his safe and warm body to touch hers almost made her ask if he would hold her, but she didn't dare to. She just caught the sensation of a blanket being draped over her before drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock stood at the opposite side of the room, next to the door, biting his thumbnail with a frown. He figured Olivia must be tired after running away, freezing herself and crying so much. Even now, while she was sleeping, the urge to touch her was ridiculously strong. It was good that he'd kept his distance all these weeks.

"She is lovely, isn't she?" a voice next to him said, making him jump.

"Mrs Hudson!" he whisper-yelled. "I told you to go downstairs!"

"I think she likes you just as much as you like her, Sherlock. You must have done something very right. She's very young, but I'm sure you can both use some comfort. Don't be so scared of her, mister. Do you think she would like something to eat?"

Sherlock stared at her with big eyes. Having no idea how to respond to the first four sentences, he focused on the last. He hadn't crossed his mind to offer her something to eat. "Yes. Yes, she must be hungry."

Mrs Hudson made a satisfied humming sound and went downstairs to rummage through her kitchen, knowing Sherlock wouldn't have much to eat, let alone something you'd offer a guest without them leaving very quickly.

Olivia woke up to a delicious smell filling her nostrils. Opening her eyes, she noticed the big bowl of steaming lentil and tomato soup on the coffee table in front of her. Next to it was a plate with several slices of buttered toast. Her stomach woke up to the smell and growled.

Sitting up, she felt her sore muscles protest. She noticed she was alone, which was rather relaxing. It gave her time to think and observe the strange room a bit more while she ate. There were boxes with what looked like police files on the floor next to his desk. She recognised the typing from the images that had been projected on their classroom wall so often. In the bookcase were some foreign objects that looked like they came straight out of the British museum. She wouldn't be surprised if they did. On the stove in the kitchen there was now something blue bubbling slowly in one of the glass beakers. She hoped the vapour coming off it was not as toxic as it looked.

Suddenly, he stepped into the kitchen from a side door. He'd shed his jacket, showing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and turned off the stove.

"I would have let you eat at the table, but it's occupied," he said awkwardly, while taking a sample from the liquid to his microscope.

Olivia smiled. Somehow it was reassuring that he was being himself. Maybe this was the moment to ask him a burning question she had been carrying for weeks. It was quiet for a couple of minutes while he peered into his microscope and she gathered the courage to start the conversation.

"Are you still angry?"

He looked up from his lens, noting her sudden nervousness.

"About what?"

"A-about, what I did… at the campfire."

She thought he was angry? About that?

"Why would you think that angered me?"

She stared back at him for a moment, not believing he was making her explain this.

Then she shrugged her shoulders, trying to look anywhere but at him. "I don't know… Because you ignore me, but singled me out in class. And I think you knew I didn't know the answer. And because you said you were going to reconsider my marks. And because you… you don't look at me. And-"

"Alright! I get it," he said agitatedly.

As Sherlock hovered above his microscope, he realised that distancing himself so much might have come across the wrong way. He hadn't known she attached so much value to these simple things. It had absolutely not been his intention upset or scare her, just to detach himself from any emotions he had towards her. This had been working pretty well for him until she had called him this afternoon.

Telling her exactly what the touch of her lips had done to him crossed his mind, but there were infinite reasons not to. The first and foremost being that he didn't want to terrify her. He didn't want to confuse her either, but decided to stay vague.

"I'm not angry. It's unfortunate you should think so."

Slight relief, but confusion could be seen in her face.

He looked back into the lens as he continued. "I would like to know, however, why you thought it was necessary to… do that." He drew the last word out so that there was no mistake as to what he was referring to.

Olivia blushed furiously now, but thought it best to talk to him. Maybe he would reveal some of his own feelings for once.

"You were angry about me and Anthony. I just thought I'd do something nice, to show-… because I appreciate what you did… for me."

Abruptly he straightened up and walked across the room, stepping over the coffee table and ending up on the sofa about two inches away from where she was sitting, looking at her with an unmistakably horrified expression.

"In absolutely no way… are you indebted to me, do you understand?"

She nodded. His eyes had an urgency she hadn't seen before.

"And you sure as hell do not have to show me any gratitude. And definitely not… like that."

For a moment, while their eyes met, Olivia could see him worry about possibly making her think she had some sort of obligation towards him. Still, something in them gave her the feeling that he wouldn't object to intimacy.

"I know I don't have to," she said in a whisper. Without thinking, her hand slipped towards his that was lying on his leg, grasping it lightly. He responded by lifting his hand a fraction so that her fingers could curl around it.

"Good."

There was a moment of silence, in which Olivia revelled in the warmth of his touch.

"So, you're not angry at all?" she asked after a while.

He shifted his body more towards her and lifted his free hand to hold it under her chin once again. Any doubt that might have shown in his gaze before had disappeared now, only his mature and slightly mischievous self left behind.

"I don't see any reason why I should be."

His thumb remained at her chin while the rest of his fingers traced her throat, where he could see goose bumps appear and feel her pulse elevating to an alarming rhythm.

"Turn around." His deep voice vibrated softly in the air, but the serious expression on his face didn't give her a clue about his intentions.

He pushed her shoulders so that she was sitting with her back to him, and started lazily running his fingers through her hair. Her eyes closed instantly.

They opened again as his hands moved to stroke the tense muscles in her shoulders. Oh. The touch was warm and tickling, sending signals through her body to prepare for something pleasant.

Sherlock moved her hair to the front, so that her shoulders were more accessible, and continued stroking, feeling the small curves and indents of her neck and collarbones. He knew this was too rapidly arousing him, and moved back to her shoulders, massaging them gently through her shirt. He could feel her relax underneath his fingers and rock a little bit with his movements.

After a few minutes of gentle rubbing her started massaging deeper, hoping it would loosen her muscles without causing pain. When he ran his thumbs along the top of her spine, the softest whimpering moan escaped her throat, which halted him for a moment.

To his astonishment, she opened three more buttons on her shirt and without looking back she pushed the fabric a couple of inches off her shoulders, giving him access to her bare skin. Sherlock hesitated, thought about stopping, about telling her that this was going too far, but his hands only wanted to make her feel good. Was that so wrong?

Apparently she though he was waiting for something, because hesitantly, she also pushed her bra straps off her shoulders, joining the other fabric at the top of her arms. Sherlock had never seen such a beautiful thing in his life. She tilted her head and his fingers softly stroked from just underneath her ear down to her shoulder.

"Are you cold?" he asked as he dug his fingers into her nude flesh.

"No." Her voice was unsteady, but he deduced that for once it wasn't because she was upset.

He could feel her tense muscles and worked them with his hands, in the strong but gentle manner she was getting used to. Her eyes closed in pleasure. Sherlock was close enough to take in her scent, a mixture of rain, London streets, a tinge of perspiration, and her shampoo. He closed his eyes as well, focusing on the softness of her skin.

They opened abruptly when she let out a soft moan. The sound of her voice responding to his touch spread warmth through his lower body. He let go of his restraint a tiny bit and slowly lowered his head down to plant a light kiss on top of her shoulder. He wanted to gauge her reaction, but she was completely still for a moment. He just watched the side of her face, flushed from the heat.

Then, she opened her eyes and turned her body around face him. Her hair flowed generously down her front, but didn't completely shield the top of her left nipple, which her state of half undress left exposed. Blood surged towards his lap. Sherlock averted his gaze quickly, uncertain whether she was aware of what he could see, and because he needed to repress the urge to stroke the dark circle of particularly sensitive skin.

When he met her gaze, Olivia didn't seem to know or care about her decency.

Sitting down, their difference in height was minimised, and putting a warm hand on his collarbone, she moved closer. Their lips touching seemed rather inevitable to her now, as they were breathing each other in, and Olivia could feel her heart-rate fasten. She could feel her hands tremble in anticipation. Suddenly she realised he wasn't going to kiss her. He was restraining himself, determined not to do anything she didn't absolutely want to happen. How could he still doubt whether she wanted this?

She desperately wanted to saturate her longing for him. She longed to finally feel those full velvety lips touch hers. She needed to know whether his tongue was skilled in comparison to Anthony's. Intoxicated by his scent, his massaging hands, his deep voice, and his sinfully dark eyes, she moved without thinking.

He remained still when she kissed him, but she could feel the fast beat of his heart under her hand. Olivia could hardly believe that the man who had been so mean to her, was actually just afraid of coming too close. He didn't shy away either, and when she applied more pressure something seemed to switch on inside him and he responded. His lips were even softer than she had remembered from that one swift touch weeks ago, and they started gently moving against hers.

It was so incredibly different from what kissing Anthony felt like. Mr Holmes' lips were fuller, patient, and the mere fact that he was doing it with her set her body on fire. He nipped gently at her lower lip, slow and inquisitive. She opened her mouth a bit more and he responded immediately, his tongue confidently sliding against hers, tasting her.

As they explored the soft wetness of each other's mouth, his right hand stroked her back. He used it to hold her steady while he tipped her backwards, so that she was lying on the sofa and he was able lean over her. His positioning himself above her and the lustful gleam in his eyes made her squirm, even more so when she felt him plant his knee in between her legs for support.

Olivia traced her fingers through the thick waves of dark curls at the back of his head and he let out a rumbling sound of appreciation against her lips. The idea that she was arousing him was turning her on so much, she needed more friction. The only thing she could feel on her body was his bare forearm pressing against her shoulder, from where his left hand was resting on the sofa, keeping him steady above her. She opened her eyes for a moment to see what he was doing with the other, and whimpered.

His right hand was hovering about an inch above her half exposed breast, as if he was about to cup it. However, he didn't touch her. His thumb was moving, stroking the air above her now hard nipple. He was restraining himself with every part of his being. The sight made her almost feel it, but her whimpering wasn't able to persuade him, although it made his movements of his tongue slightly less coordinated. Olivia desperately arched her body upwards, but he anticipated her move and was quick enough to get his hand out of the way. However, her hipbone did bump into his groin, where it met the heat of his straining erection.

The unexpected touch caused him to moan, but he didn't respond to her obvious desperation to be touched. Instead, he kissed the corner of her mouth, wet lips tracing down to her neck, licking and kissing the skin he admired so much.

Just as he dipped his tongue into the hollow above her collarbone, they heard the front door open. Sherlock froze, trying to hear what was happening at the base of the staircase. It was difficult to concentrate with Olivia's heavy breathing next to him.

"Oh John, it's lovely to see you! How's Mary doing?" He could hear John answer politely, and the sound of his voice fully switched Sherlock's mind into full power. He could hear Mrs Hudson firing more questions at his friend. Thank you Mrs Hudson.

Quickly, he jumped to his feet.

"Get dressed," he told her, while doing up one of the buttons of his shirt that had come undone.

Olivia looked at him, standing in the middle of the living room, facing away from her while she got dressed. The wall had gone up once again and an anxious feeling spread in her stomach, driving away all that was left of her arousal.

Then Mr Watson came through the door, looking like he'd had a really really long day, but greeted them warmly. He hardly paid attention to Sherlock after that, who was standing to the side, stone-faced with his hands in his pockets. He went to sit in his armchair facing Olivia. The concerned and grave expression directed at her rushed back her memory of the afternoon. She could almost feel her ribs tighten around her lungs.

I sincerely expect some love from you for this!

Further, if you have any prompts for intimate moments/situations (not sex) between Sherlock and Olivia that you really want to see happening, let me know. I might use it if it fits :)

Until next time!