Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. And can I just say thank you to all of the people who are reviewing and adding the story- Glad you like it.

#HRReport

Stamford sighs and looks at Molly. At Sherlock.

The two are standing in front of his desk, shifting guiltily from foot to foot like two teenagers who'd been called to the headmaster's office. Molly, in particular, looks quite... abashed.

In fact, she appears to be heaving trouble meeting her boss's eye.

Sherlock, on the other hand, is glaring imperiously down his nose at Stamford, his body language overbearing, as if he has to prevent himself from moving in font of Molly and physically shielding her from what's about to happen. His hand twitches towards hers every so often, as if he wishes to take it and only at the last minute reminds himself that he should not.

It is, Mike can't help but think, really rather... sweet.

Of course, he's not so foolish as to say this aloud: While he'd long suspected that the detective's partiality for Molly was not entirely professional, and he's very glad to see that Holmes has finally gotten his head out his arse where she's concerned, he's not a bloody idiot.

And because he's not a bloody idiot, he reminds himself grimly, he cannot allow a repeat of today's performance. The Morgue is a place of business and both of the people before him are supposed to be professionals- Highly paid professionals, in service to the police.

They are also supposed to be grownups.

"Alright," he says bracingly, having decided that neither Bonnie nor Clyde are going to crack, "how about you just explain to me how things got so... out of hand?"

Molly opens her mouth to speak but immediately Sherlock speaks over her.

"It was my idea," he blurts. "Molly had nothing to do with it."

Stamford frowns at him. "According to Hopkins, when he walked in Molly was holding you by the tie and-" He checks the incident report before him- "Demanding to know whether you "were going to be Miss Molly's good boy?"

He narrows his eyes at Sherlock.

The detective at least has the good grace to blush a little.

"He then had to witness Molly- Again, I quote- ","Having her wicked way with you," on top of one of the slabs."

Stamford, eyes the detective.

"How, precisely, was that Molly, "having nothing to do with it, hmm?"

He has the pleasure of seeing Holmes gulp.

Again Sherlock opens his mouth to retort but this time it's Molly who jumps in.

"It was my idea, alright?" she says quickly. "I, well, I used to have, I mean, um, I sort of have this, well, everyone knows I have this thing where Sherlock's concerned..."

At this the detective grins proudly and she sticks out her tongue; His expression turns slightly wounded and instantly she looks contrite. She wraps an arm around his waist and - Good God, Mike thinks he might need to bleach his eyes out- Holmes actually cuddles the petite woman against his side. Kisses the top of her head tenderly.

Stamford fights the desire to roll his eyes heavenward and ask for patience.

Unfortunately for him, however, Molly's not done.

"So, well, Sherlock, um, he was undercover," she continues, "and he was wearing these glasses and this awful, badly-fitted suit in the lab. He said he was trying to work out a character for a stakeout...He said he needed to play a nerdy, nervous, innocent sort of lab assistant and could I help...?"

And she flushes, biting her lip, apparently distracted by the memory- Or maybe, just by what it does to her.

Again Holmes preens.

Again Mike fights the urge to roll his eyes heavenwards and ask for patience.

After a moment Molly de-buffers and rejoins her boss in the here and now- Not a moment too soon for Mike.

"He looked, well, he looked quite...edible," she says eventually, still blushing. "And, well, I'm a woman, alright? I have needs and, um, feelings, and, and desires and things-"

And she crosses her arms, her face turning scarlet. This time Holmes' gives into his inclinations and takes her hand, pressing it to his heart and reaching out to touch her cheek. He kisses her lips softly. Sweetly. Chastely.

When Stamford clears his throat Holmes glares daggers at him, furious that his girlfriend's been upset, and again, Mike can't help but think, it's really rather sweet.

"Some of these desires involve asking me to pretend to be her intern and then bossing me around the Lab all day, alright?" Sherlock adds, apparently having decided that that's the best tack to take with this.(Mike's fervent hope for his sanity doesn't agree with him).

"When Molly explained her little fantasy I felt it incumbent upon me to help her fulfil it," Holmes bites out. "I do, after all, take my commitment to Molly rather seriously, and any sexual preferences she has are to be indulged, if at all feasible..."

And with that he straightens himself up. Goes back to glowering at Mike (though he doesn't release Molly).

Stamford squeezes the bridge of his nose. Shakes his head. He's beginning to get a migraine, and he suspects it will be the first of many, where these two are concerned. Because while he is happy to see that Sherlock takes sexual Molly's needs seriously, he can't believe he actually has to say this.

"Obviously, Sherlock, Molly, I'm glad that your relationship is working out well," he begins, lacing his fingers together. Making sure to keep his tone even.

"God knows, you took your time getting together," he continues, "and I wish you both all the best, I really, truly do.

"But whatever you may think, the St Bart's morgue is not the place for you two to act up, or role play, or do anything unprofessional, and I am not willing to have a conversation like this with either of you again- Is. That. Clear?"

And he leans back, crosses his arms over his chest.

Does his best to look imposing.

Years of long practice- and his bulk- have made him rather good at it.

Both pathologist and detective nod to show they understand, though Holmes seems rather less willing than Hooper. In fact, he looks quite put out at the thought that his and Molly's randyness might get them both into trouble, not just him.

Mike, with the managerial wisdom that comes from experience, elects to ignore this, however. "We'll consider the matter settled then," he says instead. "I won't pass anything onto HR-" He shudders, imagining the paperwork- "Just don't let it happen again, and show yourselves out."

And with that he goes back to signing reports. He doesn't need to add a "dismissed," the message is obvious. Slightly chastened, but not really sorry, Molly and Sherlock exit his office, hand in hand. Heads mutually bowed and faces mutually reddened.

They wait until they're out of earshot to speak.

"I suppose we'll have to play in my lab from now on, Miss Molly?" Sherlock murmurs. She blinks up at him and he shakes his head in mock mournfulness. " So much for verisimilitude, eh?"

Molly's grin is slow. Shy- Morphing in her lovely Mollyish way into sinful as she gets the gist. "I suppose we will," she says softly, already pulling him towards the cleaner's closet- "Verisimilitude is, after all, so over-rated..."

Mike Stamford ends up booking her and Sherlock Holmes on a sexual harassment seminar later that day, as well as offering the unfortunate cleaner who walked in on them a raise.

After all, there are things one can see and never unsee, and apparently Miss Molly and Sherlock Holmes falls roundly on that list...