I'm finally back with an update... thanks for your patience.

Many thanks to Anea the Morwinyon, pen2paper87, CumberbatchesGirl, janinaalicja, brit14, kie1993, itsbeautiful9, purpleflames, LolaWants, laced-with-fire, Gollum4077, TheDoctorsMistress, Zacha, 88dragon06, Aimee, coconuts-are-funny27, House Calls, PennyParrish, and MORE for reviewing the last chapter!

Chapter 28:


She felt herself begin to wake before her eyes actually opened, pulled out of her dreams by the cloying scent of smoke. She was so warm, so comfortable, that she tried to push it away, fought to stay asleep, to stay where it was safe.

With a contented sigh, she pressed herself into the warm presence at her back and pulled the arm closer, cuddling it against her stomach…

The arm?

Alexandra's eyes snapped open, no longer able to combat her body in its need to wake. As the last vestiges of sleep faded, the events of the night rushed into her mind and she found herself tucked against Sherlock's side. She could vaguely tell they were in John's double bed, bodies still streaked black where it had failed to rub off on the sheets, but rational thought was overcome by the sensation of her naked body touching his in a hundred, a thousand points of skin against skin. She could feel every one of them.

His body was still, save the slow rise and fall of his chest, and Alex let herself relax against him, thankful he was still asleep. It gave her time to define and deal with the odd tingle coursing through her. It was either panic or excitement, she decided eventually. Most likely a combination of the two.

Defining it proved much easier than making it go away and, as she struggled to ignore it, Alex felt Sherlock's long fingers flex against her stomach.

Reluctantly, she glanced over her shoulder and found him watching her, propped up on one arm and very much awake.

"We didn't use protection."

Whatever she'd expected him to say, that certainly wasn't it. She blinked at him in disbelief.

"Thanks Sherlock, I thought it was amazing too."

He frowned at her obvious sarcasm as she wiggled out from beneath his arm and rolled onto her side to face him.

"I'm clean," she said finally. "I am!" she added after a particularly skeptical look. "Are you?"

"Of course."

"Then what's the problem? I don't remember you caring before…"

Oh, right. She felt like a proper idiot. Of course he would think of that now.

"I can't have children Sherlock, Charlie and I tried," she said slowly and with rehearsed calm.

All the tension dropped from his long frame and Sherlock flopped onto his back with a sigh.

"Well I'm glad you find that so relieving," she snapped quietly but made no move to get up.

Sherlock inclined his head towards her curiously. "Did you want children?"

She opened her mouth only to close it again quickly. In all honesty she'd never even thought about it until Charlie brought it up and then, only after a few months of trying, she was told it was impossible.

Impossible. That one word had made her so angry.

"Not until the choice was taken away," she answered after a long moment. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want children."

"No."

"Ah," she responded easily. It's what she expected. In fact, she would have been shocked if he'd answered in the affirmative.

"That doesn't surprise you?" he asked, returning to his side to better gauge her reaction.

"No, should it?" Alex reached out and absently began tracing her finger across his collarbone.

"Isn't that what normal people do," he began, eyes dropping to her hand, "aspire to perpetuate the species?"

"I guess," she smiled, "but you're hardly normal Sherlock."

He grinned and slid his hand up her arm where it rested above the blanket, brushing the pads of his fingers over the bumpy remains of her burns, almost completely faded.

Alex waited for him to speak again, to steer the conversation towards the inevitable. Not what happened between them (that was a conversation neither were ready to have) but the fire and its victims. When he failed to do so she captured his hand between both of her own and rested it between them.

"Sherlock…"

"No," he interrupted quickly, "I don't know what he was doing there."

"But…"

"Nor do I know the identity of the other person inside."

Alex sighed in frustration and pillowed her head against her arm. "Then tell me what you do know."

He hesitated and she could almost see him shuffling things around in the computer that was his mind, deciding what he could tell her and what was better left out.

"I know," he began finally, "that someone inside the MET is feeding your attacker information. Most likely one of the officers assigned to guard you."

Her eyes widened in surprise and she unconsciously shifted closer. "Not…"

"Carrow? No."

"Then how?"

"There's a chance they don't even know they are… oh." He stopped and comprehension filled his eyes. "You're asking how I know this?" Alex nodded. "Did you never wonder why Lestrade said it would take him a week to find a place for you? I know London's police force are a moronic and dilatory lot, but even they aren't that slow. No, I told Lestrade to stall you."

"Why?"

"Because I've suspected there was a mole for sometime now. He has information you can only get with someone on the inside. I hoped when word got out they were moving you your arsonist would panic and show himself."

When he finished she could see how pleased he was by the expression on his face and she stared at him with a mounting horror.

"Sherlock, people died!"

"Collateral damage."

Alex inhaled sharply, but her brain refused to process his words. "You could have died!"

"Irrelevant."

"I could have died!"

"You should never have gone in!" he snarled suddenly, abandoning his otherwise placid demeanor.

Alex stared at him for a long moment before speaking quietly. "I only went in to get you out."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed incredulously. Wasn't it obvious?

"Yes why. What did you expect to accomplish, asphyxiation? If so, then Brava indeed."

"Sherlock…" she tried to interrupt but he shook his head and ploughed on.

"All you managed to do was hurt yourself and almost get attacked. You didn't even find me, I found you! Don't try to save me when you can't even save yourself!"

Tension filled what little space there was between them but Alex couldn't move. Sherlock's eyes pierced her own and she was held in place despite the anger coiling in her stomach.

"Fuck you Sherlock," she hissed softly.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the next words rushed out of his mouth. "You already did."

It was the innocent way he said it that made her laugh. There was no spite in his words. They weren't aimed to hurt, merely stating fact, and once she'd gotten over the shock, she couldn't stop laughing.

He regarded her warily as her mirth increased and she buried her face in the pillow. After a few long seconds she was able to get herself under control and met his eyes again, a smile firmly in place.

"You're right. You're always right… that's really irritating by the way… I went bumbling in after you and I shouldn't have. But I think I should get points for intent. I was worried and didn't want to see you get hurt. Besides, it worked didn't it?"

"I was going to go back in."

"I know, but luckily for everyone, someone was there to stop you. Now," Alex scooted closer and brushed her hand over his cheek, "this isn't the conversation I imagine when I'm lying next to you naked. In fact, there isn't any talking when I think about it, so…"

The strain was still there, in the rigidness of his shoulders and the tightness of her mouth as she kissed him. She half expected him to push her away and resume their argument and she was pleasantly surprised when his lips began moving beneath her own and his body relaxed against the bed.

It was a lazy, slow embrace, despite the serious words they'd shared before, and neither seemed in a hurry to end it. Alex was more than happy to forget reality for awhile, to pretend everything was normal, even if she knew Sherlock was incapable of normal. At that moment in her mind they were just a regular couple enjoying an early morning snog…

But it would never be that easy.

When a loud series of angry knocks issued from the door she knew at once that John was on the other side. Her only surprise was it took him that long to interrupt. She remembered suddenly that they were in his room and even with the thin sunlight filtering through the curtains she could see the bed was a mess. For one fleeting moment she wondered if they had locked the door, but it was driven from her head when she saw the amusement twinkling in Sherlock's eyes.

"Sherlock!" John barked in annoyance. Get dressed and get your bloody arse downstairs now!"

He paused and Alex held her breath, waiting to see if he was going to acknowledge her as well.

"Lestrade's here," he added after a long moment, voice quieter and somewhat unsure.

She waited until she could hear his soft footsteps on the stairs and glanced at Sherlock again.

"You better go."

He mumbled his agreement but before he could move she flattened her hands against his bare chest and pushed him to his back, attacking his mouth like it might be the last chance she'd get. His hands came up, clasping her head between them as their lips crashed together. He opened her mouth and she parted her lips willingly to meet his tongue. A small moan bubbled up from deep inside and she shifted, pressing every inch of herself along him, feeling his firm muscles, taut and ready. Her hips ground instinctively against him and were rewarded by a desperate hardness, a force seeking her out between his legs.

It was enough to give her pause and she pulled back to see his face. He was flushed and breathing heavily, curious eyes fixed on her own.

After a long moment in which neither moved, Sherlock rolled his hips slowly, the evidence of his arousal pushing against her stomach as though to say, "see what you did? Now do something about it."

Alex smiled slightly, allowing herself a moment to consider leaving him in this state. Or even better still, to lay back and watch him deal with it on his own…

Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, turned on by her own thoughts and the man beneath her. She kissed him chastely before pressing her mouth to his ear.

"I guess I can't let you go downstairs like this." She felt Sherlock shudder in response and placed a kiss just below his ear. "It would probably give John a heart attack," she added absently and continued down his neck to his chest, trailing hot, wet lips down his body until they reached their goal…


Sherlock quickly dressed in the clothes that were fortunate enough to make it upstairs (pants, trousers, socks, shoes) and, with one last glance at Alexandra still curled comfortably under the duvet, shut the door behind him.

He found John seated in the kitchen. The Doctor had turned the chair to face the staircase and crossed his arms against his chest while he waited, mouth set in a firm line. Sherlock hesitated in the archway, more out of curiosity that embarrassment.

Silence stretched between them and a quick scan of the room showed that John had retrieved his shirt and jacket, as well as Alex's night shirt, from the floor and hung them over the back of a chair. If there'd been any doubt in his mind (and there seldom ever was) that his friend didn't know exactly what he and Alexandra had been up to, the placement of their soiled clothing would have removed it.

"I don't know which is worse," John began slowly, "that you had sex in my bed or that you did it covered in filth."

Sherlock smirked and entered the room, snagging his shirt from the chair and slipping it on. He didn't know what gave him away but, as he did up the buttons, John's expression went from uncomfortable to painfully so in the blink of an eye.

"Oh god! You did it again didn't you? In the time it took me to come back down and you to follow, you had sex again!"

"I don't know John," he responded casually, "is fellatio considered sex these days?"

John blanched and started coughing as though he were choking on something. Sherlock could only assume it was his own air since he hadn't been drinking anything. He arched an eyebrow and leaned against the counter, waiting for him to stop. After a moment he realized the Doctor's gasps for air had turned into hysterical laughter and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

When John finished there were tears in his eyes and a wide smile across his face. He tried to school his features back to stern and disapproving but couldn't get it quite right. Instead he jerked his head towards the living room.

Sherlock followed it and found Lestrade standing near the sofa, looking rather shell-shocked from what he'd overheard. He was trying very hard not to gape and failing miserably. Sherlock excused himself before the DI could speak and slipped into the washroom. He splashed cold water on his face and swiped at his skin with a flannel. He could only hope he was removing the black traces. As though by some unspoken agreement with himself, he refused to look in the mirror. He didn't need to, he knew how he must appear; lips swollen, eyes heavy, body relaxed and sated… He had no desire to see the proof of his weakness. Proof that he'd let his body take over and succumbed to it's baser needs.

He gave up after awhile and rested against the sink, knowing he wouldn't truly be clean until he could shower properly.

His eyes narrowed as he emerged from the small room. John and Lestrade were standing close together, heads tilted down as they spoke in hushed tones. Sherlock cleared his throat noisily and they jumped.

"If you two are finished gossiping like women, I'd like to see the crime scene now."

They had the decency to look embarrassed as they followed him out of the flat and across the street. The scene was more subdued than the night before. No ambulances or gawking crowd, just a handful of scattered police cars. He paid them little heed as he entered the building.

Once inside it was like he was everywhere at once.

From a dent in the wall he knew where the fire started. Untouched patches of floor told him where both Brian and Carrow had been found. A quick glance at the burn patterns around the area and he knew one of them had been carried in. The other had been dragged from the far end of the hallway.

He took samples of the ash, the walls, the carpet, the curtains - any fabric or surface he could get his hands on - to test for volatile hydrocarbons later. He had John collect bits of glass from the carpet on the off chance that he'd find blood that didn't belong to Alex. But still it wasn't enough because, like water, fire molds and shapes its surroundings. If left unchecked it destroys everything in its path. It doesn't make exceptions for evidence, much to Sherlock's chagrin.

The familiar sight of a word formed through the burns finally stopped him. It was on the third floor, a short wall separating two flats, and seemed perfectly placed to taunt him.

"Devil," Sherlock whispered as he stared up at the curving letters. The word was more hastily made than the others and each letter looked scrawled into the scorched wood.

"Shame, truth, devil," he whispered again, the words running over and over in his mind - shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil - shame, truth, devil…

"But what does it mean!"

"How should I know, you're the genius," Lestrade spoke and Sherlock started. He'd forgotten he and John were still behind him.

"It could be a multitude of things. He could be referring to himself, some delusion that he's actually the fallen angel. It could be a derogatory statement about Alexandra. The word devil comes from the Greek diabolos, roughly translated 'slanderer'. That could easily tie into the other two messages, but he could be referencing something completely different. Or…" he trailed off, glancing at the word again and running a hand through his hair.

"Or…" John prompted when he didn't continue.

"Or it could be completely irrelevant!" Sherlock snapped, turning his back on the wall. "What I can tell you is this; Carrow was lured into the building before the fire started. He was killed there," he pointed, "and then dragged ten meters to end there. Brian was already dead or unconscious before he was brought in. I'll need to see the body to know which."

"I figured," Lestrade nodded. "Molly's already waiting for us."

"You go ahead, we'll be there shortly." Sherlock turned to study the word again and John shrugged at the DI.

After he left, John stood next to the detective, clasping his hands behind his back to mirror his friend. He watched him from the corner of his eye but Sherlock was completely absorbed. His mouth moved silently, in time with his rapid fire thoughts, and even if it weren't so quick John was rubbish at reading lips. After a few minutes John gave up trying and went for the more direct approach.

"What are you thinking?"

"Too many things John," Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "Too many things."


As always, I like to teeter on the far edge of the 'T' rating...

Molly finally makes an appearance next chapter! Is it just me or do you kind of love her after the last episode?

Alright then... assuming everything goes to plan there will be 4 to 5 more chapters plus an epilogue. That's not set in stone though. Things happen.

Please take the time to leave a review!