Hey, you guys, how are you on this sunny Sunday? I'm finally getting a bit more time to myself after a few weeks of madness and I'm hoping that translates into a bit more writing as it's been severely lacking recently, and I miss it.

Thank you all for your lovely reviews and comments – shall we crack on and see what happens during the nightcap in Sherlock's suite…I need to remind myself what I wrote whilst I do a final edit :).

Chapter 6

Molly felt a little nervous as they got to Sherlock's room. His was up on the top floor in the hotel's only suite, and she wondered what it would look like.

Inside, it was over double the size of her own room, with a separate sitting room and a large, decorative archway leading through to the bedroom, where she could see an imposing wrought iron bed.

The sitting room had two cosy armchairs set at an angle to each other, with a drinks table in between. On the table was what looked like a decanter of whisky, a bottle of red wine, white wine in a cooler, and some glasses.

Sherlock gestured towards the drinks. 'Get yourself whatever you fancy and pour a whisky for me. I'm just going to get changed.'

He moved off to the bedroom, but Molly was acutely conscious of the fact that he was getting changed a few feet from her. If she was just to turn her head, she'd be able to see him. She was pretty good and only glanced around once. By that time, he had his pyjama bottoms on, riding low on his hips, and he was pulling on a t shirt. She could see all the muscles in his chest and stomach leading down to his hips, and she had to bite back a moan at just how sexy he looked.

A moment later and his head popped through the neck of the t shirt; she quickly averted her eyes, picking up her drink and sitting in one of the chairs.

'Thanks.'

Sherlock collected his drink and sat in the other chair. He'd added a thin dark blue dressing gown to his look, and she wondered just how many he owned. She was sure she'd seen at least three over the years.

Seeing him looking so relaxed made her aware of the fact that she was still very much dressed, and she kicked off her shoes.

'Hope you don't mind; cheap stilettos aren't good when you've been spending all your days walking.'

He smiled and patted his lap as he put down his drink. 'Give them here.'

Molly frowned. 'What? My shoes.'

At this is laughed. 'No, Molly, your feet.'

She felt even more confused at that. 'My feet? Why do you want my feet?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Oh, I don't know, I just thought it would be a nice friend thing to do to give you a foot rub, but if you don't...'

'No, no, I do. It's just, well, not something I expected you to ever offer.'

'Well, I am...so...'

He gestured to her feet, and she tentatively lifted her legs and settled her feet onto Sherlock's thigh. It felt strangely intimate, even more so when he took hold of one foot and started to rub it with his hands; one hand holding it firmly whilst he used the fingers and thumb of the other to massage the sole of her foot. It felt amazing. So much so that she really did let out a moan only to immediately apologise.

He shook his head smiling. 'Don't apologise, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Now, let me tell you about Chantelle. Luckily for us she's a talker, so I expect to get a lot more from her tomorrow. Anyway, she described Harlow for me. I said I thought I knew him from a few years back to allay her suspicions and she's going to send me a photo at some point. From the description she gave it seemed to match yours of the body, so I'm fairly convinced they are one and the same.'

He switched to her other foot and Molly mused that she could live like this forever...sipping on a delicious glass of wine, feeling vaguely tipsy, with Sherlock massaging her feet and talking to her; his velvet baritone washing over her. She felt turned on but in a very chilled out, relaxed kind of way. The sort of feeling you get before slowly making love on a sultry, hot Sunday afternoon...boneless and blissed out.

'...so anyway, that's the plan for tomorrow.'

Molly seemed to come to realising she'd missed most of what he'd actually said.

'Sorry, I think I zoned out a bit. You're too good at this. What's the plan for tomorrow?'

He gave her a tolerant smile, but let go of her feet, signalling the end of the massage and no doubt the evening.

'I said I'd be spending the day with Chantelle. Did you say you were going shopping? Maybe you could pick me up some swim shorts. I still want to go back to the beach and test out some of my theories about how the killer got to the beach without leaving tracks. I'm waist size 32 or medium. And in the evening, I want you to befriend someone, one of the other guests. Find an old biddy, they love to know what's going on, and are normally more than happy to gossip. Right, well...unless you want to spend the night here...'

He tilted his head and gave her the very same expression that he had had when she'd collected him from John's therapists to give him a health check; when he'd asked her to tell him when to cough.

She was tempted to jokingly call his bluff, but she worried he'd think she was serious. Instead, she drank the remains of her wine and nodded as she stood.

'OK, I'll...umm...see you tomorrow evening then.'

'Yes, until then.' He walked her to the door, and just as she was leaving, he bent his head to her and kissed her cheek softly. 'Sleep tight Molly.'

She gave him a soft smile. 'Yes, you too Sherlock.'

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. The excitement of the day, the lateness of the hour and the food and wine all combining to give her a really good night's sleep.

Her dreams were laced with everything that was going on and running through them all was Sherlock. In her dreams they were getting closer and closer, she could see him changing for bed, dancing with her, touching her body. Even as she started to wake up she was still lucid dreaming, starting to control what she was thinking and wanting from him.

They were back in his room and this time when he moved to kiss her cheek, she tilted her head, and he caught her mouth instead. He didn't pull away though, instead he kissed her until she felt dizzy and desperate for him. His tongue was sliding against her own and she could feel her need for him growing, she wanted him to touch her but, in her half awake state she knew she would need to touch herself instead.

She groaned and let her hands slide down her body as she shifted to be more comfortable. All she wanted was to feel him inside her, to come calling out his name. She whispered it to herself and heard him responding but something didn't feel right.

She blinked her eyes, and as she did, she felt the bed shifting to the right of her.

'Good you're awake. I wondered how long it was going to take...though I did worry for a minute there that I was going to have to wake you. Good dream Molly?'

'Wh...what?'

She blinked her eyes again, trying to adjust to the dim light in the room, and when she turned her head she found Sherlock, fully dressed, lying on the bed next to her.

'God, Sherlock. What time is it? Why...why are you here?'

'I'm here to get you, but then I figured you wouldn't be very happy about me waking you and I knew you'd be up soon, so I thought I'd wait.'

She pulled herself up a bit still trying to adjust. Part of her head was still in that dream, and she felt a flush of embarrassment at the fact that she'd nearly started masturbating over Sherlock with him lying right next to her.

'How did you even get in? This is so inappropriate.'

At this he smirked and lifted an eyebrow. 'Well, I realise now that it almost was. Do you want to share what you were dreaming about? It sounded like I was in it.'

'I...no...I mean...God, you're insufferable.'

He chuckled as she pushed back the covers and swung her legs out of the bed. What she didn't notice was the way his eyes travelled down the length of her body in its short, silky nightdress as she made her way to the bathroom. Or the way that he swallowed heavily as she pushed her hands through her hair making the nightdress even shorter as it skimmed the top of her thighs.

He sat there in the semi-darkness listening to her turning on the shower, and he acknowledged to himself that his decision to wait in her room probably wasn't one of his most sensible.

He'd only actually been waiting for five minutes, but he hadn't been able to control the way his body had responded when she had moaned. She'd then whispered his name as she moved and shifted next to him. He'd even almost been tempted not to wake her...to just stay and watch whatever unfolded. It had only been his innate respect for Molly that had stopped him.

He suddenly felt scared. He sat up and reached for the light switch, bathing the room in its warmth. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breathing was short and panicky. He knew he needed to get a grip of himself and calm down. Everything he knew himself to be was in question because of her, and it was getting worse. He thought he could live with just being her friend, but every day seemed to get harder and harder, and yet he couldn't walk away. He felt as if he was trapped on a merry-go-round, and he'd just have to let the ride play out no matter what. He barely even knew what he was still fighting for.

In the end he distracted himself by switching on the small kettle on the counter and concentrating on making them both a coffee. He knew his chances of getting Molly to do what he wanted would be limited if she didn't at least have caffeine inside her.

She exited the bathroom for a moment wearing nothing but a small, inadequate, bath towel and she glared at him as she sorted through her clothes pulling out different items.

'It's a good job you've made that coffee Sherlock, you've got some making up to do for all this.'

He smirked as he picked up his cup trying to act more nonchalant than he felt. 'I suggest you concentrate on your towel Molly, if you don't want to show me all of your assets.'

She literally squeaked in shock making him chuckle, as she pulled it around her a bit tighter and she hurried back into the bathroom with her clothes.

A couple of minutes later and she exited wearing another thin summer dress over bare legs that had started to tan over her holiday. Her damp hair was up in its normal ponytail although it was no longer quite as long as she used to have it. When she wore it down it fell to just below her shoulders. Sherlock thought the new style suited her better.

She came over and took a swig of her drink, and then she turned to him and punched his arm.

'I can't believe that you broke into my room, that you lay next to me on my bed and...and...and God, you can't do that Sherlock.'

'I can't? Why can't I?'

'Because it's not appropriate. It's my private space.'

He couldn't help himself...his tongue getting ahead of his brain. 'You don't want me in your bed then? I thought you did.'

She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring, and he immediately knew that he'd said the wrong thing; he held his hands up. 'Sorry...Molly, I'm sorry that was wrong of me. I wasn't thinking. It's just Chantelle sent me through the photo of Harlow, and I wanted to show it to you.'

He reached for his phone and hoped he'd done enough to distract her and start to quench her anger, but he still heard her mutter...'less than 24 hours...I knew it...'

Once he found the picture, he held the phone up and she took it from him and stared at the man looking out at her, smiling happily.

'Yes, yes that's him. Damn, he looks so alive there.'

'Great, that's that part confirmed. Now...how do you feel about breaking and entering?'

So, Sherlock has been a bit not good breaking into Molly's room, and he nearly saw more than he bargained for. It looks like his feelings are starting to spiral somewhat – what do you think? I hope you enjoyed their interactions xx