A Friendship is Tested

'Sorry?' Sherlock snapped, not meaning the word as a form of apology but utilising it –as usual– to announce his incredulity at someone's complete stupidity.

'C'mon. Slap me. Don't be such a baby about it.' The red-haired detective cajoled.

'You're giving me permission to slap you.'

'Absolutely, it's all part of the game!'

'I've never heard of such nonsense.'

'Sherlock, I worry about your childhood –'

'Well that's only natural. I did have Mycroft for an older brother.'

'No, not that bombastic twit –'

'Did you just call my brother a bombastic twit?'

'You're impressed.'

'Don't be absurd.'

'You like that I insult him. Mycroft's a twit. Mycroft's a dickhead. Mycroft's a bald-headed eagle whose feathers you love to ruffle.'

'Do shut up.' Yet the insult was only half-hearted, Ruby could identify the amusement twinkling in Sherlock's restless eyes. 'You want me to slap you? Fine. I guess I find myself in no position but to indulge your childish game.' Sherlock leant forwards, extending his hands across the gap separating them, his fingers pushed together in a praying ensemble. Ruby's hands were in the same position; the tips of their fingers were inches apart. 'So I'm "on" I suppose?' Sherlock mused.

'Yes!' Ruby practically squealed from impatience.

'Have it your way then.' Sherlock's hand shot forward with the full intention of colliding with Ruby's intertwined pair. Ruby was startled by his speed and didn't manage to withdraw her hands on time. With a comic SMACK! Sherlock's palm ricocheted off Ruby's praying ensemble, inspiring the blood vessels on the back of her right hand to dilate profusely. Her eyes watered as the slap began smarting, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake.

'Well, I guess we're even now.' She said in a quiet voice, a shaky hand reaching towards her glass of wine as she took a generous gulp.

'Even?' Sherlock's brows furrowed suspiciously.

'I have slapped you before. In the face.'

'Yes that was rather painful. But it's your own fault, this stupid "drinking game" was your idea so you've only yourself to blame.' He said airily, his eyes still rooted to the scarlet skin his slap had inspired. He suddenly jumped to his feet and hurried out of the room.

'Oi! You haven't gone and lost your bottle have you?' Ruby roared after Sherlock's retreating figure. She was only answered by a curious banging noise and she peered around John's armchair to see what exactly was going on in the curious kitchen of 221b Bakerstreet. Her question was soon answered – though the answer didn't appear to make much sense. 'Sherlock… what is that?' Ruby asked quietly as she eyed the bloody bag in Sherlock's hand.

'Oh this? 18 severed ears.' He announced. 'Now put your hand out.'

'No.' Ruby said, immediately cradling the stinging hand against her chest.

'Oh come on, they're frozen ears!' Sherlock argued.

'And why should that make any difference – hang on.' Ruby's eyes grew wide when she began following Sherlock's trail of logic. 'No. Absolutely not.'

'I've no ice.'

'So you decided that your bag of frozen ears would be a suitable replacement?'

'There's no flaw behind my logic. The ears would be re-frozen after they began to smell.' Ruby suddenly bolted to her feet, swiped the bag of ears from Sherlock (which she wrinkled her nose at) and hurriedly threw them back into the freezer. She flicked on the tap in the kitchen and grimaced as she ran her hand beneath the cold water. Soon the smarting died away and she dried her hand on a nearby tea-towel. She turned to find Sherlock leaning against the kitchen wall, his eyes watching her intently.

'Are you alright?' Ruby asked, he looked similar to when she'd initially entered 221b; lost somewhere in his mind palace.

'Fine.' He said before walking closer, taking her hand and mechanically examining it.

'Honestly Sherlock, it's fine –'

'I'll be the judge of that.' He quickly gave Ruby her hand back and bolted from the kitchen, his erratic footsteps clambering down the wooden stairs. Ruby stared at the entrance of the kitchen, completely perplexed by his actions. Why was he being so… uncertain?

Ruby actually smacked her hand against her forehead when the answer presented itself. It was so painfully obvious; she felt her I.Q must have reduced by some thirty points to have missed it. Of course Sherlock was acting strange, look at what bizarre events this evening was going to hold! And the frozen ears… He'd felt bad for slapping her and this was him trying to be nice and fix it. Admittedly in his own weird little way.

'Think fast.' Announced Sherlock's voice from the doorway, his returning footsteps missed as a result of Ruby's small epiphany. She caught the bag flung at her head and a small smile pulled at her lips when she realised what it contained:

Ice.

'You asked Mrs Hudson for ice?'

'Asked? A tricky task to carry out when she wasn't there. No, I just took it from her freezer. Along with a mince pie.' He added, biting into the stolen foodstuff with a smirk.

'You just admitted to a police officer that you broke into your landlady's house and stole goods which didn't belong to you.' Ruby said as she placed the ice pack against her hand which was once again, stinging.

'Ah, but you're knowingly using said stolen goods, meaning you're my accomplice. You report this, we both go down.'

'Suppose I'll have to keep my mouth shut then.' Ruby was smiling once again as she walked past the world's most well-dressed detective. 'And… thanks.' She said in a quieter voice as she sat down in John's armchair, her sore hand becoming less of a burden with each passing second. Ruby reached forward and took another sip of wine as Sherlock finished off his mince pie, throwing the wrapper into the dead fireplace as he flung himself into his own armchair. He picked up his violin and began strumming a few chords aimlessly, his eyes glazed over as he was transported to a place far from his own sitting room.

'Sherlock?' No answer. Ruby rolled her eyes before sliding down in her chair, suddenly too lazy to get up. She stretched her leg until her wandering foot came into contact with Sherlock's calf. A calf which soon received a firm prod.

'What?' He snapped.

'I have a game.'

'Another one? I'd have thought after the abysmal failure of the previous one, you'd have given up by now.'

'You'll like this one.' Ruby argued as she slowly pulled herself into a normal sitting position. 'It's called: Truth and Lies.'

'Sounds a bit dull.'

'Nah, you'll like it. Basically, you ask me a question, any question at all and I give you an answer. You then have to figure out if I'm lying or telling the truth. If the questioner correctly identifies if the suspect is lying or telling the truth, the suspect has to drink. If the suspect manages to correctly hood-wink the questioner, the questioner must drink.' Sherlock strummed a diminished seventh. 'You see a problem?'

'A pretty obvious one. The "suspect" as you so aptly named them, can be dishonest when they divulge whether the questioner correctly deduced their answer.'

'Well, I'm not going to be dishonest.'

'Of course you're not going to be, you have me watching you.'

'And are you going to be dishonest Sherlock?'

'I could be and you'd never know.'

'You won't be.' Ruby said with a smile.

'And why's that?'

'You enjoy playing the game too much.' She muttered before settling into a more comfortable position. Sherlock strummed two chords against the strings of his violin. G major followed by C major; the perfect cadence Ruby understood was his permission to continue with this game. 'I'll start.'

'You really think you can tell when I'm lying or not?' Sherlock asked smugly, placing his violin against his chair before staring haughtily at his companion.

'Let's find out. Alright, something simple to begin with.' Ruby's eyes scanned over the detective and she smiled slightly. How on earth had she managed to persuade him to take part in such a childish game? 'Why did you become a consulting detective?'

'I've always liked puzzles with answers beyond the grasp of the mob and I like working outside of a system with structures which only serve to shackle their employees instead of liberate them.' He said this with his usual deductive air, a stream-of-consciousness technique which both awed and unnerved Ruby.

'You're telling the truth.' She muttered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow before picking up his glass and taking a delicate sip. 'Oh man up and take a proper gulp, would you?' Ruby said quickly. They'd never become intoxicated if little dainty sips of wine were the only punishment of this game.

'My turn.' Sherlock said in a deathly quiet voice and Ruby steeled herself for a moment. The consulting detective wasn't exactly abiding by laws which society deemed "decent" meaning he could ask her any sort of question. 'How many men have you slept with?'

'6.' Ruby instantly replied. Sherlock's eyes seemed to vibrate as they scanned her body before settling on an unusual conclusion.

'Telling the truth.' He declared. Ruby reached for her glass and took a generous sip.

'My turn. Are you a virgin?' She voiced the question the entire office was dying to know the answer to, though the response she received here would not go beyond the walls of 221b.

'No.' Sherlock said. For a man in his mid-thirties, this would be very obvious but this was Sherlock Holmes, a man who could not be judged from the statistics garnered from the mob. The name Irene Adler came to mind, but Ruby found herself believing that Sherlock Holmes would not break in front of a whip and tall stilettos, regardless of who might be wearing them.

'You're lying.' She eventually said; the word coming out more breathily than Ruby would have initially liked. A small smile twitched at Sherlock's lip for a moment as he examined the glass of red liquid balancing on his armrest. His gaze returned to hers and Ruby realised that she was wrong. He wasn't a virgin. Slightly shocked that Sherlock would deviate from a case to indulge such primitive urges, she picked up her glass. She was always surprised when Sherlock demonstrated any of the weaknesses he was constantly complaining about with concerns to the human race.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock demanded.

'Stop being so blasted impatient! Look, I got it wrong, I'm drink –' Her voice caught in her throat when she realised Sherlock was taking a long draught from his glass of wine. 'Oh. I got it right then.' Ruby said in a little bit of shock.

'Excellent deduction.' Sherlock said sarcastically as he balanced the glass on his armrest. Ruby was flummoxed by the strange sense of relief she felt upon discovering the detective was still "pure." This made no sense at all seeing as A) She wasn't pure herself, her tumultuous twenties had seen to that and B)… She didn't even have a second point to back up this bizarre reaction. She glanced up when she realised Sherlock had already asked his second question.

'What?' Ruby asked, trying to put to bed those ridiculous feelings.

'I said, who do you love more; your mother or your father?'

'Father.' Ruby instantly replied, doing nothing to conceal the bluntness to which this sentence was delivered.

'Easy. Lie.'

'Whoa. Drink up Sherly, cause you are wrong.'

'No I'm not. You love your mother more than your father. You may like your father more than your mother but that does not mean you love him more.'

'You're wrong. Stop being such a baby and drink up.'

'I'm. Not. Wrong.'

'Yes you are. It was my mother who wanted so badly to "fix" my sister.'

'So you place the majority of blame for Diane's death at your mother's doorstep. Interesting…' Sherlock mused, leaning forwards in his chair.

'You know what? This is taking too long. Sips are out of the window. If you get something wrong, you either down your glass of wine or take a shot of gin.' Ruby said briskly.

'You really want to mix gin with wine?'

'Yes I do. Now, next question!'

Things radically escalated over the next two hours, the questions becoming more and more ridiculous as the wine continued to disappear coupled with an alarming amount of gin. By now, Ruby knew some very peculiar facts about Sherlock, such as why he stayed away from relationships, how he hated dogs and how he was oddly familiar with all branches of porn.

'You watch porn? Wow oh wow.' Ruby let out a very breathy, low whistle.

'It was for a pervy case with a lot of pervs. I had to learn to think like a perv.' He lazily argued.

'Pervy for sure.' Ruby said with a giggle. 'Which branch did you best prefer? Girls with girls, girls with boys, boys with –'

'Shut up your mouth!' Sherlock demanded, getting unsteadily to his feet for a moment to try and prove his point. 'The acting was so bad, so bad. How could one ever an interest pursue in it?' He mused.

'You're drunk Yoda!' Ruby sang.

'What?'

'Drunk Yoda! Oh for aaaaaaaaaaall the marbles in England do you not know who Yoda is?'

'Sounds like an idiot.' Sherlock declared as he fell onto his chair.

'He speaketh in weird patterns. Your cognitive processes adopt Yoga tendencies with alcohol. WOW. That was really deep. I'm going to write that down so future Ruby will remember…' She hurriedly rummaged in her bag and in barely legible writing wrote down the gist of what she'd said. 'It's good you be no pervy porno addict.' She added as she tried to place the cap on her pen but somehow managed to flick it to the other end of the room.

'I'm glad you think so.'

'You see… here's what I believe. Porn… it makes sex orange when it should be BLUE. Understand?'

'I don't think I want to understand.' Sherlock said with wide eyes. 'I think I'll have some kids.' He casually added.

'In what fuckedy fucked up wu-urld do we live in my darling, where I, a normal woman, does not want to bear children in her uterus but youuu, you do! Sherlock Holmes wants kids! Sherlock Holmes wants kids! Sherlock Holmes wants kids!'

'I don't want… irksome bundles of flesh.'

'But you just said you did! Are yooou lying ta me? If so, have a drinkie!' Ruby sloppily sloshed the last of the wine into Sherlock's glass.

'Why more wine?' He asked, staring at the glass in confusion.

'Isn't it obvious? The great Sherlock Holmes does not understand why I fillith his glass with the fruits of… of…' Ruby frowned as she lost her train of thought, the wine bottle clattering onto the floor but amazingly, remained intact. 'KIDS! SHERLOCK HOLMES WANTS KIDS!' She suddenly roared. 'Maybe Sally Donovan will be your pretty uterus.'

'If she ever offers me her uterus, she'll be trying to make it seem...' His hand swished lazily in the air. 'Rapey.'

'Ah! Good deduction. That's a funny word. Heh. But this. This is important.' She buffed her chest out in an absurd manner. 'You want to have offspring. Which means… haha watch me use logic! It means you want to have your cherry popped by a woman.'

'Stop romanticising… everything. You know I find that detestiabcle. Detestabricle. Delectable? Detestable! Uh. Words. So full of nonsensical… idiots.'

'No need to be ashamed of wanting sex Sherlock.' Ruby was having a rare bout of lucidity. 'S'only natural.'

'But I don't… my case. My work. I have marriage already.' He pouted.

'But Sherly. Your cases don't have vaginas. So you can't consumerate…? Consummate! You can't consummate that marriage! And your cases… they cannot give you children. So you see the problem? You need a woman. With big breasts and hips. Yes, they make for good child carriers… many children all in one go! Boom! Boom! Boom!' Ruby took another gulp of wine. 'But why the urge to become dad of the century? That's so very dull.'

'I don't want to be a fayther. Fatherer. Father. But my mind…' He tapped his temple profusely. 'My mind must carry on. After my body dies.'

'You want to create another consulting detective from your DNA?'

'Exactly. It would be much easier to manage if I had a proper lab… to clone my DNA. Just some hair. Or some skin.' He gazed at the skin coating his fingers for a moment. 'The skin is such a huge organ… my oh my. And I am so very intelligent.'

The doorbell rang and Ruby joyously leapt to her feet, a movement she soon lived to regret as an unpleasant rush of blood thundered to her head.

'Chinese!' She announced meekly, picking up the money on the table and unsteadily making her way downstairs, holding onto the banister for dear life. Eventually she managed to make it to the landing where she greeted the Chinese delivery guy with ridiculous enthusiasm; accidently gave him ten pounds in tip and a firm kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs. It was remarkably easier to ascend than descend; a thought which Ruby felt was of the utmost importance to share with her drinking companion.

'Chinese!' She announced with jazz hands, dropping the food onto their table.

'Forks.' Sherlock demanded.

'I has them!' Ruby declared, plunging a hand into her bra and retrieving two forks, the prongs of which had been peering out of her top.

'When did you…' Sherlock shook his head for a moment. 'Never mind. Give me one.'

'Say please.' Ruby pouted. He muttered some hogwash phrase. 'What was that?'

'It's Latin.'

'Right. What did you say?'

'That I'm the most intelligent man on the planet and shouldn't have to say please for you or the Queen.'

'Yes you do.'

'Oh no I don't!' Sherlock roared, adopting a fantastic pantomime tone.

'Yes!'

'No, give the fork to me now!'

'No. Say please.'

'Fine… please?'

'Alright then!' Ruby sang as she thrust the fork into his hand and began digging into some chicken satay. The food had undoubtedly been a good call as they needed to sober up slightly. Also there was the fact that Ruby had never seen Sherlock eat a full meal in her life.

'What?' Sherlock asked, delicately wiping away some black bean sauce with a napkin. Even when he was drunk, he was so bloody proper.

'It's weird. Seeing you eat.'

'It'll make tomorrow easier.' He muttered before devouring a spring roll. The rest of the meal passed in silence, each individual intent on what alcohol was describing as the tastiest meal of their lives. Ruby's thoughts became less hazy as the alcohol began to soak into the plentiful fats re-introduced into her system.

After downing what felt like a gallon of water, Ruby rose and was very pleased to find her body responding much more cogently to her commands and deposited herself on Sherlock's armrest.

'What are you doing?' He snapped.

'Looks like you're returning to your lovely, rude self. How nice.' She said with a smile. 'Now that we've reverted back to the state of being "tipsy" thanks to Chinese food making our cholesterol soar through the roof, time to move on.'

'To what, exactly?'

'This.' Ruby reached out a hand and dragged her fingers through Sherlock's mop of black curls.

'A head massage?' He asked with a hint of his usual disparagement.

'No. Sorry, your hair is rather distracting.' Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he observed the merry red-haired detective.

'Distracting?'

'Aye.' Now both of Ruby's hands were lost in the tousled mop, slightly engrossed in the thickness and lovely colour of his hair.

'Would you stop that?'

'Alright Mr Grumpy.'

'I'm not Mr –' Sherlock however, did not manage to finish his sentence. As can be imagined, it's pretty tricky to orate an argument when someone is kissing you.

'Now. That wasn't so bad, was it?' Ruby asked cheekily after pulling away, enjoying the look of complete astonishment painting Sherlock's face. Sherlock suddenly bolted to his feet, his eyes wide like an animal being hunted. 'Are you alright? You look kinda peaky.'

'Why did you do that?' Sherlock demanded.

'You asked me, your only friend of the fairer sex, to teach you how to kiss someone. So congratulations, you've just began step one to kissing like a pro.'

'There's… steps?' Sherlock asked, completely out of his comfort zone. His alcohol riddled mind sluggishly tried to think of a way out of this situation, though at the moment he couldn't stop thinking about the nice feeling tingling around his lips. He'd proven that in fact, Ruby's secret relationship wasn't serious, but it appeared that Ruby's firm grasp of his "kissing" request had not been loosened in the slightest by the alcohol pumping through her veins.

'Of course there're steps silly! And you've already failed the first one.'

'What?'

'The peck. You were awfully stiff and unreceptive.'

'You ambushed me, of course I was rigid!' Sherlock automatically argued.

'Fine. Prove that you can give a nice, supple, tender kiss.'

'And how am I supposed to do that?'

'Kiss me you idiot. I thought that was obvious!' Ruby rolled her eyes, her hair swishing to compliment the dramatic movement.

'You… you want me to kiss you.' Sherlock muttered, scratching the back of his head nervously.

'It's not that big of a deal Sherly, skin against skin! Man up would ya?' Ruby ordered. 'Oh for God's sake.' She yelled at no-one in particular before crossing the room and standing before the detective. 'This is what you did.' She leant up and harshly planted a stiff kiss against Sherlock's now soft lips, her own remaining perfectly rigid. 'Not very pleasant is it?' Ruby asked as she withdrew, looking at Sherlock with a bizarre sort of pity. 'Now stop being so stiff! This is something to be… enjoyed.' She explained as her hands began loosening Sherlock's stiff joints, trying to make him relax.

'I don't see how this can be classified as "enjoyable."' He argued.

'If you need it for a case I suppose it doesn't have to be. But for someone you're interested in, you can't help but like what's going on.' Ruby giggled nervously, amazed that she'd taken such a nonchalant approach to this teaching business. Ah alcohol, the facilitator of so many bizarre events, sponsored by lowered inhibitions.

'I'll be the judge of that.'

'Shut up and listen .This is information you won't find in any of your books or in any room of that mind palace of yours. The main mistake made with kissing is that people purse their lips before the initial contact and allow the bottom lip to do the work. That. Is. Wrong.'

'Wrong?'

'So wrong. You want to kiss someone properly; then you need to employ the unsung hero of the brilliant kisser. The wonderful upper lip! Everyone forgets about the upper lip. But you judge for yourself which feeling you prefer.' Ruby stretched on tip toe once again and gave him a normal kiss using only her bottom lip. 'Alright, that was the normal, dull way.' She hadn't bothered to move away so her lips brushed his at irregular intervals as she spoke. 'Here's the interesting way.' Ruby's top lip gently encompassed Sherlock's while her bottom lip set to work, the pair working in harmony for a few moments.

'Better.' Sherlock said while clearing his throat nosily, suddenly finding the laces on his shoes very interesting.

'Course it was. You even responded.'

'No I didn't!' Sherlock said quickly.

'Alright maybe respond was exaggerated, but there was a breath of a response. Heh. I'm such a poet. Why the fuck am I police officer?' She asked no-one in particular.

'You're good at your job. That's why you made detective so young.'

'Is this one of your lopsided compliments which is secretly wrapped in an insult and you're extra stung as you initially think your ego is being boosted when in fact it's being mocked?'

'No.'

'Oh, it definitely is then.'

'Ruby –'

'Look, Sherly, this is tricky enough without you mocking me on the side lines too alright?' Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but quickly swallowed his retort.

'So have I passed step one then?' He eventually asked.

'Pffft, you haven't even taken the challenging practical!'

'The challenging prac– oh.' He rolled his eyes as he understood the full meaning of her words. 'Right then.'

'Show me what you've learned!' Ruby said cheerfully.

'You're enjoying this far too much; it's obvious you have a devastating crush on me.'

'Nah you're alright. It's just nice to have the unquestionable authority on this subject matter, leaving you the novice.'

'That leaves you in a highly unusual position. Enjoy it while you can.' He murmured before leaning down and pressing his lips against hers, incorporating the upper lip technique with annoying ease. He pulled away after a few seconds, leaving Ruby firmly trying to hold all of her thought strands together. She was a teacher damn it, she needed to keep her shit together. Sherlock could not get the better of her in something she had genuine talent and experience with.

'Don't keep your eyes open.' She blustered.

'Why? I like to see what I'm doing.'

'Usually that would be fine, but then it's you we're talking about here.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Your eyes… have you seen them?' Sherlock glanced at the mirror and frowned.

'They're both the same colour, aren't colour-blind, possess correctly functioning pupils–'

'Sherly, no! That's not what I mean!'

'Then be less vague!'

'Fine! They're too intense. Every time you look at someone it's like: OH MY GOD HIS EYES WHAT IS GOING ON THERE HE CAN SEE MY SKELETON I'M TERRIFIED AND INTRIGUED SIMULTANEOUSLY. Not what we want your lady friend to be thinking. You're always being super-duper observant and your eyes express this when they vibrate over anything which piques your interest.'

'My eyes don't vibrate –'

'Hell yes they do! So in an "intimate setting" that would seriously disturb the smooth vibes you're supposed to be sending out!' She ran a hand through her hair while avoiding the gaze of said x-ray vision. 'Try again.'

'Fine.'

'And don't be tense'

'I know.'

'And the upper lip thing…yeah that was good the previous time. Do it like that again.'

'Ruby. Shut up.' Sherlock snarled before leaning down and kissing her once again, eyes firmly closed. Sherlock was surprised that the elimination of his primary sense heightened instead of diminished the exhilarating knot twisting his stomach, the existence of which he would rather endure Anderson's pointless natterings over his next ten cases than admit to the woman he was kissing.

'Alright, good! Now just a heads up, I'm going to respond next time, so don't pull any lines that I'm "ambushing you" alright?' Ruby said with an eye-closing smile which made Sherlock suspect that she was not feeling any sort of knot in her own gut.

'I'll try not to faint.' Sherlock said drily though he wondered what the sensation would feel like. Was he looking forward to it? He didn't manage to form a coherent answer as he leant down and once again placed a kiss on lips which were becoming quickly familiar. A strong tingling in his own lips persisted for the next ten seconds as he felt Ruby's move against them. He felt his heart beat quicken ever so slightly at their exchange, which was, he privately admitted, rather enjoyable.

'You passed step one with flying colours.' Ruby said after pulling away, trying to ignore the fact that she'd kissed him for double the amount of time than previously intended. She hadn't expected Sherlock to understand never mind present tenderness. The thought made her already addled brain even more dysfunctional.

'So… step two?' Sherlock prompted as Ruby sifted through her muggy thoughts.

'Tongue!' She said with a disturbingly bright smile. 'Tricky, and the part which arguably is abused the most. Just remember one simple rule with tongue: less is more.' At least she hadn't lost her flair for reeling of facts about kissing, meaning she was still pretty tipsy. This sort of confidence didn't exist during sober hours. Honestly, before tonight, she'd not really given much thought to her knowledge regarding a kiss. It just happened with someone she liked, or with someone she was protecting as had been the case with John.

'At all costs, avoid the washing machine.' She added.

'The washing machine…?'

'I won't demonstrate as it's that unpleasant. In a nutshell, it's where one or both members of the embrace, decide to shove their tongue into the others mouth and proceed to violently swirl it around in circles.' Ruby visibly shuddered. 'I nearly became a lesbian after my first kiss with a washing machine.' She shook her head to rid herself of the memory. 'But you, you're in good hands. So you won't be plagued with this affliction.'

'Good to know.' Sherlock murmured.

'And also, none of this bullshit about licking the lower lip asking for "entrance" into the other's mouth. That doesn't happen in real life. If you're enjoying what's going on, your mouth will open slightly out of instinct as it did earlier.'

'But I didn't open my –'

'Yes you did. You didn't acknowledge it but I did.' It was so strange being so certain where Sherlock was so uncertain. Is this what he felt like all the time? It must be so nice…

And tedious.

Very tedious.

'I'm going to kiss you now and don't be surprised by how weird it feels.' Ruby announced abruptly before reaching up onto her toes and pressing her lips against Sherlock's once again. Sherlock's response was more automatic this time; he didn't need to think too much about what his lips were doing. That was until his parted slightly and something long and wet gently entered his mouth. It was very distracting and Sherlock instantly lost any enjoyment he'd extracted from the kiss. This was odd. Not good odd either. 'Don't freeze. Keep moving.' Ruby whispered encouragingly, kissing him once again. The initial distrust of Ruby's tongue gradually waned as he became used to the slippery sensation. The two parted slightly with Sherlock looking slightly bewildered.

'Good. I know it's weird –'

'I think you need to employ a stronger adjective.' He muttered.

'Uncomfortably weird –'

'Not strong enough.'

'Well you think of one then!' Ruby said while shaking her head. She was trying to find an adjective to describe Sherlock's distaste for having her tongue in his mouth… what was her life coming to?

'Icky?' She tried again.

'Yes, that was the initial sensation.'

'Initial?'

'It became more… bearable.'

'Even enjoyable?' Ruby teased while placing her hands on her hips. There was less chance of her fingers "accidently" ending up in Sherlock's hair and tugging him down for an embarrassingly passionate kiss if she kept her hands right there.

'Let's not push it.' Sherlock said knowingly.

'Fine. Onto more practise then?'

'I'm not the type which gives up halfway.'

'No, the obsessive ones never abort a mission.' Ruby said with a small chuckle. 'When you use tongue, like I said –'

'Less is more.' Sherlock's eyes were blazing with impatience.

'Eh. Yeah.' Ruby was finding his gaze quite… unnerving.

They started kissing once again and Sherlock's tongue slowly slunk into Ruby's mouth, though it was a tense and awkward entrance, causing Ruby to quickly pull away. 'Supple. Tender.' She reminded 'Not stiff.' She saw Sherlock's fists clench at his sides, fists which loosened as she burst out laughing. 'You're so Goddamn serious Sherlock! If I could teach the male population to learn what you've learnt in triple the amount of time, I'd have opened up kissing clinics years ago. Even in this you pick things up abnormally quickly.'

'I was of the opinion that this for most men was a quick process.'

'True. And look at the population of terrible kissers in England! Disgraceful.' She had another little chuckle at the doubt clouding Sherlock's features. It was an expression she was unused to seeing and made his ethereal features appear humbler. 'Stop doubting yourself.' Ruby murmured.

'I don't feel doubt.'

'Course you do. You're a man Sherlock, a brilliant one sure, but a man nonetheless.'

'You really love calling me brilliant; that has to be the fourth time this week alone that you've employed that adjective.'

'Shut up you show off.' Ruby demanded as her hands reached up, pulled on the collar of Sherlock's shirt and roughly drew him closer. Her lips were on his before he could bring up another point of protest, moving with a ferocity which up to this point, she'd kept veiled from the consulting-detective. Her hands slid into his gorgeous locks as she felt Sherlock rise to the challenge, his hands which had been beside his side this entire time, suddenly became animated and wasted no time pulling her closer. One clenched around her back while the other was busy tracing delicate patterns against her stomach. Lips locked and tongues boldly exchanged greetings as their embrace continued beyond the border of mere friendship. Heart rates elevated, allowing the blood to thunder around their excited bodies which were crushed against one another. Sherlock was for the first time in living memory, oblivious to his surroundings. All he currently cared about was the information his sense of touch was providing him. He could feel Ruby's ribs gently pressing against her skin as his hand wandered up and down her side, his other grasping the smooth texture of her neck, goosebumps chasing the touch of his cool fingers. His hands wandered north, lost in the fiery strands of her hair as he tried to imprint to memory the soft texture of the crimson locks. Ruby's fingers continued to clench and unfurl in Sherlock's mop of midnight curls as a violent blush painted her cheeks scarlet from the surprisingly ferocious embrace. Soon her hands were wandering south, cupping Sherlock's impossibly high cheekbones for a moment before moving further down, curious fingers tracing his jawline, his neck, his Adam's apple… She gently ran her fingernails along the exposed flesh at the nape of his neck, eliciting a minor – but nonetheless existent – groan from the dark-haired detective. She felt a wall meet her back, a quiet surprise for her as she didn't remember walking backwards. She welcomed the improvisation from Sherlock who she now deemed a model pupil quickly graduating from Ruby's college of expert kissers with first honours. Her hands travelled further south, running along the lean frame of the detective, over his expensive shirt, the purple one which now she thought about it, obviously suited him best.

Suddenly oxygen wasn't reaching her lungs and, gasping for breath, the two finally emerged from the embrace. Ruby's hands slowly fell from Sherlock's shirt and she stared unflinchingly into his now very focused gaze. He wasn't analysing her, he was just seeing her, the soft dimension was one which before tonight she'd have sworn Sherlock didn't possess. His nose was pressed gently against her own, his head still bent from leaning down to capture her lips. Nothing was said as their chests gradually stopped heaving; a silent staring contest took place as each pondered how this would change their futures.

The front door opening and closing shattered their private atmosphere.

'That'll be John.' Sherlock's voice was peculiarly husky as he phrased this sentence. 'It's late, very late. It would be… unwise for you to go home.'

'Thanks Sherlock… I'll just crash on the –'

'Take my bed.'

'–couch, wait what?'

'Go. Now. Before John comes in from checking in with Mrs Hudson. Look, I'll explain…' He glanced round the messy room 'I'll explain this.'

'Alright, thanks. Good night Sherlock.'

'Good night Ruby.' He didn't move to liberate her from her imprisoned position on the wall, indeed he seemed to be on the verge of asking something when footsteps where discerned mounting the stairs.

'Go.' Sherlock ordered, stepping aside to allow Ruby to scuttle from the room, quietly closing the bedroom door just as John entered the living room.

'Evening – bloody hell Sherlock, what happened here?' John's eyes roved around the messy living room, his eyes settling on the empty bottles of wine, two orders of Chinese and two glasses.

'Had to entertain a guest for a case. Tedious work indeed, I don't know how you do it for fun!' Sherlock mused as he ran a hand through his mop of curls.

'Alright, sorry about humanity being a big fat lot of stupid idiots. And what happened to your hair?'

'My hair? Why? What's wrong with it?'

'Sherlock, there's no need to get so defensive, it just looks as if you were dragged through a bush backwards.'

'Oh.' He looked at himself in the mirror to find that John's description was quite accurate. 'You know; humidity. Curls have a life of their own!'

'Right. Listen, unless you need anything else, I'm off to bed. Try not to leave this living room in this state, poor Mrs Hudson will have a heart attack if she sees the mess you've made.'

'Night John!' Sherlock said bracingly.

'You're in an awfully good mood.' John said suspiciously. 'Were you drinking gin?' He asked incredulously as his eyes fell on the small blue bottle peering out from beneath the table.

'Yes, hence the good mood. Plus a break in the case which I'll tell you all about in the morning!' Sherlock leapt joyously onto the couch where he steepled his hands beneath his chin and pretended to dive into the depths of his mind palace. But his thoughts were steaming out of control, impossible to manipulate at this point.

'Night Sherlock, I'll leave you to… whatever it is you're doing.' John muttered before climbing the stairs to his own room. After what seemed like an eternity, his door slammed shut and Sherlock leapt from his chair and bolted through the kitchen, pausing outside of his own room. His hand hovered uncertainly over the door knob but found his fingers unable to twist the handle. Sherlock then found himself sitting on the floor beside his own room, his legs crossed and his elbows resting on his thighs.

Sometime later, he jumped to his feet and finally managed to overcome the bizarre barrier which had stopped him from entering his own room. His eyes fell on the curled form highlighted by the silver of the waning moon peering through the unveiled window. Ruby slept soundly, the alcohol providing an irresistible drag into the land of dreams, one which Sherlock found himself reluctant to wake her from. After some more thinking, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He entered the living room where he slumped onto his armchair, eyes glued to the clock on his mantelpiece, counting down the minutes to when the sleeping Ruby would stir.

This. Was. HARD. Not to mention ridiculously exhilarating. But very challenging, mostly because it took so long for Sherlock to get properly intimate thanks to his maddeningly complex character and also the small reason that I wrote all six and a half thousand words of this chapter today. And edited it. My brain is officially mush! I do hope you liked it, you the reader have been waiting SO patiently for some Sherlock/OC action and I've finally delivered. With concerns to where the story goes from here, I have big, BIG plans. Lets just say, I'm glad you're invested in my OC because this story is going in for the long haul. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed, I will now make it my business after grabbing some sleep to reply before work tomorrow. Your dedication goes so far as to leave reviews the length of essays for me to read after tough days which allow me to have the strength to type out another chapter. It means so much, you have no idea.

Alright, enough with the mush which my brain is oozing out, I am funkyrandomer and I hope you enjoyed this latest instalment. I've been dying to write it since I first started this story some eighty thousand words ago.