Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta read by the lovely MizJoely but of course all mistakes are mine. Thank you again for the reviews, reading and general support this has received. Now let do this...

Dude, Where's My Shirt?

"Stay behind me," Benedict murmurs, moving himself in front of Luisa.

He has drawn his own pistol, his coat billowing behind him as they climb further up the Rake's Back Falls.

The young healer makes an impatient noise, trying to keep apace with him despite the unwieldiness of her skirts. "After all of our adventures together, Your Grace," she says imperiously, "one would assume that you know me to be far from helpless-"

"I do not think you helpless," Benedict snaps. "I think you human!"

Despite his glower, and the luminous darkness which shines out of those exquisite aquamarine eyes, Luisa tilts her chin upwards challengingly.

Infuriating creature that he is, he crosses his arms and glares back down at her.

One would almost think they were not on the trail of the vicious forger, Herr Magnussen, Luisa muses, the way they were behaving…

"I am as human as you, m'lord," she points out testily. "And I am not nursing a gunshot wound and damage to my sight." She tries to gentle her tone. "I should think it would be mere good sense to let me go first on so perilous a journey as this-"

"No!" Something moves through Benedict's eyes, something so fast that Luisa isn't sure she didn't imagine it. Could it- Could he be... worried about her? She thinks on his querulousness during this entire adventure, on his unwillingness to speak of her recent engagement. Could it be that he feels for her what she feels for him? she wonders, though she knows the thought a traitor to her heart. And yet… The idea makes her breath catch in her throat, makes her heart hammer, and maybe he understands it, maybe he reads it in her as he always does because slowly, slowly, as if he were edging closer to a doe or some timid, delicate bird, he reaches for her. Takes her by her elbows. Pulls her flush against his warm, powerful chest.

"Luisa," he murmurs, looking down at her, "my dear Luisa… Surely you know that were anything to happen to you then I would never forgive myself?" He lays his forehead on hers. "In fact, were anything to happen to you… Why, I cannot allow myself to even contemplate it."

And gently, reverently, he reaches down. Touches his lips to hers. The feel of it is electric, so much more affecting than even a more passionate touch by Luisa's sweet fiance. The wind picks up, rain and gale catching around them as they finally, finally, give into the sweet temptation which has been vexing them for all their long years of friendship-

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson's voice sounds as loud as a bullhorn. "Sherlock, your breakfast's ready! John said I should make certain to call you."

Groggy, uncertain after being broken out of the novel's enchantment, Sherlock frowns. Tries to stand. Lands on his arse and then has to try to stand again, something he just about manages. He feels as wobbly on his legs as a colt.

Damn Mrs. Hudson for interrupting, he thinks irritably, just when I was getting to the good part… It's taken Benedict 300 plus pages and God knows how many other books in this series to finally get his head out of his arse and now-

But speaking of heads… There's a smart knock on his door and then his landlady's visage appears around it, her smile sunny, her voice obnoxiously cheerful.

Sherlock resists the urge to throw something.

"Your tea is in the parlor, dearie," she tells him. "Today's papers are as well, if you're interested- Including your copy of Tobacco Ash Quarterly. Donna down in Speedy's says it was sent to them again, instead of here." She clicks her tongue. "You'd think they'd know, after all these years…"

And, her messages delivered, she darts away, humming lightly. For a moment Sherlock is tempted to tell her where she can stick her bloody tea, and her bloody copy of Tobacco Ash Quarterly, but he supposes it's not her fault, it's John's. The short-arsed doctor probably thought that was hilarious, he muses darkly, getting her to wake me after knowing I'd been up all night on a case.

A case? The John in his head inquires with a grin. Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?

With a deeply martyred sigh Sherlock tells this mental incarnation of his best friend to just. Bugger. Off.

Phantom John chortles, but says no more. Sherlock cannot help but suspect that his silence will not last. "Well?" Mrs. Hudson prompts from what sounds like the kitchen. "Are you getting up?" The sound of scraping delf, of cups and saucers being put away. "That tea's not getting any hotter, you know…" She snorts. "Not that that's ever stopped you before…"

For a moment Sherlock contemplates going out. Pretending to be interested in the day. Pretending to be interested in doing anything other than finding out what precisely Duke Benedict is proposing to do in order to win the heart of the lovely Luisa Hopville. But then, just as surely, his eyes are drawn back to the book. Back to Molly's handiwork.

He really wants to find out what happens.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he calls, pulling on his dressing gown. He tucks the book surreptitiously into his pocket. "I shall be out shortly, but I must insist that I have absolute privacy today: I shall spend it in my Mind Palace."

He might be wrong, but he swears he can hear a touch of amusement in her voice. "Righty-ho, dear," she tells him. "I'll make myself scarce."

And with that he hears the door to 221B close.

Relieved to be alone, once again, with his latest adventure, Sherlock pads into the kitchen and plonks himself down in front of the fireplace. By the time he's poured his tea and sipped it, he's more than ready to get back to his book…

Unfortunately, of course, this is precisely when Molly Hooper, novelist extraordinaire, decides to do the Utterly Unthinkable to him.