A/N Holy cow has it been a long time since I updated. I am shocked at myself. I have been unbelievably writer's blocked and living in Star Wars Fanfiction. I missed this fandom though. I finally got around to watching the Abominable Bride and I was very pleased. I'd been avoiding it because I was disappointed with Series 3. The magic is back though. Mary was on point, but I wanted more Molly! They showed her masquerading as a man and we didn't get to have ANY fun with it. Thank you to the reviewers and followers I had during my absence. Promise I am not abandoning this fic.

OoOoO

Sun was already winding its way through Greg's flat when Serene awoke. She could feel their legs tangled together and the heavy weight of his arm holding her to him. It tightened around her as she began to roll her way to the edge of the bed.

"You snore." Greg's voice comes from somewhere above her head. His voice was low and gravelly he was still half asleep.

Serene laughs and rolls back into his chest. She fans her fingers out over and over again feeling the muscles beneath smooth skin. "Did I forget to mention that? How silly of me, I guess we shouldn't have rushed into bed together."

His hand stills hers on his chest, flattening her palm against him. She can feel his heartbeat murmur beneath her fingers and cannot contain the hum of contentment.

"I am the fool letting myself be seduced by a strange woman. You could have robbed me during the night."

"Your toaster's already in my handbag."

"I knew it." Greg swore, shocking her as he rolled her underneath him. She laughed finding herself pinned to the mattress and Lestrade hovering above her. She ran her fingers over his arms, his torso, anywhere she could reach. She let him feel her nails as she brought her hand up over his back and caressed the side of his face. She felt terrible that the itch to leave was running under her skin. She could feel it crawling along her nerves, whispering into her ear that there was a puzzle to be solved.

"I need to go."

Greg hangs his head in defeat, his hair ghosting over Serene's skin as he huffs to himself. She thinks he mutters something about 'bloody workaholics.'

"Don't sulk. You're going to rush off to the office the second I am out of bed."

He rolls off her, groaning. Rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Right then, don't play too nice with Sherlock then."

Serene sits up, running her hands through the mess of her hair.

"I told you jealousy doesn't suit you, Greg."

"Having you rush off to see Sherlock doesn't suit me either."

She twists to face him grinning at his immaturity.

"Would you prefer if we rushed through love making? Would that make you worry less?"

"Are you, my good doctor, suggesting a quickie?"

"Is that what you call it?"

Serene buttons her shirt and sifts through the laundry to find her jeans.

"Normally you take off clothes, not put more on."

Serene kneels fully clothed on the bed, kissing Lestrade's cheek.

"I'll come back tonight. We'll hope for no more emergencies."

Lestrade sits up catching her as she tries to pull away. One hand had sneaks under her shirt and the other catches her neck pulling her down onto him again. Serene catches herself before she collapses onto him, humming contentedly as he punctuated his sentence with kisses along her jaw.

"That would be a bloody miracle."

Instinctively Serene's hand moved from the mattress onto his thigh, running along the thick muscle there. When she reached his hip she squeezed, her thumb stretching to run assuredly over him. Lestrade growls low in his throat and holds her tighter.

"Keep that up Doctor and I won't let you out of this bed."

"You left your handcuffs on your belt." Serene laughs softly in his ear her thumb running from base to tip one more time. At the suggestion Lestrade barks with laughter and lunges to the side of the bed where he left his pants the night before. Seeing her opportunity Serene shoots across the bed over him. She is at the door, shoes in hand, before he can catch her.

"Have a good day, Greg." Serene says before disappearing down the hall.

"Watch your back around Holmes." He shouts after her. He hears a laugh and the click of the door as it shuts behind her. He groans and lays back, the feeling of dread that only comes with blindly trusting Sherlock Holmes settling in his stomach.

Serene got out of the cab and walked confidently up to the door of 221B Baker street. The knocker was askew and the street had the odd empty feeling of people being away about their own business. She had to remind herself again that despite the obvious existence of this mad man in her life, other people were just going about their days. She knocked and Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a woosh.

"Thank goodness, my dear. You look less peaky. Come in, he has had me up half the night pacing. Should I bring up tea? I am sure he hasn't got anything in."

Serene comes into the dimly lit entrance way, she can smell lingering notes of couramin and oak in the hall. Mycroft had been here first thing, beneath that was the stale sour smell of cigarettes smoked several hours ago.

"I don't think we'll be here long. Tell me, Mrs. Hudson, do you have a car?"

"Not myself dear, but Mister Chatterjee will lend me his Golf if I have a lot of shopping. He keeps in around back in a little lean-to. Will you be needing a car?"

"Possibly. Has he been quiet for awhile now?"

"The last hour since his brother left."

"I would love some tea, Mrs. Hudson. If you don't mind, I think it's best we let him sleep."

"Clever girl, I'll bring it up. Just this once, mind."

Serene walks up the stairs to the flat above, thinking about what Mycroft could have wanted. In the back of her mind she had a nagging fear that Graham was in danger, but she couldn't let it worry her. He had means beyond her imagination and involving her in his efforts here would only slow him down. She walks into the usual chaos of Sherlock Holmes' flat; she follows the indistinct trail of ash through the room gathering up the discarded pieces of the Elizabeth Loewen file. She had just set herself down with the pile when Mrs. Hudson knocks with tea. Tutting at the mess she sets it down on a spare square inch of coffee table and bustles from the room. Serene considers what a vaguely charming life Holmes leads.

The shutting of a door echoed in his mind, like it had been closing for hours. When he was finally able to claw himself out of the fog of sleep, his brain argued it must only have happened moments ago that footsteps on the stairs could still be heard. They were Mrs. Hudson's; she was carrying a tray judging by the hesitance of each step. It rattled a little. A tray of empty dishes. She had been before then, the door from hours before falling into place. She had not come in his room, refused to on principle. However if the tray had been for him she would have knocked, or cooed his name through the door. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, exhaling the sleep from his body and inhaling his surroundings. She was here. She'd come to him as he'd hoped she would. She'd disappointed him so thoroughly last night, allowing herself to be pulled away by Lestrade. He'd hated her and ached for her all night. He'd slept naked, always slept naked, but in the early morning he had stripped thinking of her in Lestrade's bed. How they had slept, if they were still asleep now. His disappointment roiling itself into resentment. Now lying there in the late morning, his body wrapped in a sheet and his head hanging of the edge of a bed like a pietà he was consumed with thoughts of her in the other room. He rarely woke up hard; it was not part of the rhythms of his body, driven by cases and pursuits rather than the rising and setting of the sun. Now however he felt himself rise to occasion, so to speak. He laughed soundlessly to himself and considered leaving the room like this. Would it shock her to see him stroll into the parlour naked and hard? He would ignore her, going about his day naked and awake. Remind her she was not the only animal. He sat up and rolled his shoulders, feeling the rewarding stretch of moving muscle. Only the inevitability of Mrs. Hudson stumbling in on his posturing made him reach for his crumpled pajama bottoms. He did not need her blushing or staring to remind Serene he was a sad, strange man alone with his housekeeper.

Before standing he braced his arms on the bed, tightening and coiling his muscles willing blood to flow elsewhere. It was this rumpled and exposed Holmes that stumbled into the living room to find Serene seated on the floor, toast in one hand and a picture of Elizabeth Loewen in the other.

"Try not to get jam on anything."

Serene doesn't look up at him, but trades the photo for a coroner's report.

"Do you want some? Mrs. Hudson's just been by."

"I heard. I never eat on a case. Is there tea?" Sherlock stops stalking behind her and sits down to her right, taking the fresh mug where it has been placed on the last scrap of wood visible beneath the pages. He takes a sip, crinkling his nose.

"Milk."

Serene puts her toast down and knicks the cup from between his palms.

"That one's mine." She drinks after him and he immediately feels the heat traveling downwards as he thinks of her mouth. He inhales deeply to exorcise the thought. "Make your own."

"Don't break into other people's flats." He takes the tea back from her and she lets him keep it. He drinks it and watches her worry her lip as she flips through the coroner's report. No doubt coming against the same impenetrable wall he came to last night. Before he has time to consider the action he reaches out placing his thumb in the groove beneath her full bottom lip. Her eyes darted to him in confusion and he stared at his thumb mesmerized by the feeling of her skin so intimately following the curve of his thumb. He tugged gently and her lip slipped from between her teeth, red from the pressure. He takes his hand back as her tongue darts out to soothe her lip. He coughs awkwardly and returns to his tea, not looking at her.

"I must be thinking." Serene says softly, her tongue darting out a second time before she returns to the document in her hand. Sherlock suddenly feels half mad. He drains the cup letting in clatter when he puts it back on the table. He stands and walks back to his bedroom desperate for more layers between him and the heat coming from her.

When he emerges from the shower, dried and dressed in a suit with his expensive cologne around him like a miasma he feels better equipped to deal with the rumpled woman in the other room. He walks at a confident clip back into the parlour to find Serene seated on the settee, her braid undone running a dark wooden comb through her hair, Mrs. Hudson is perched on the arm, the mug and plate balance on her knee chatting with Serene.

"- No problem at all dear, I remember when I first got married my hair was as long as that. Never quite felt human until I'd gotten a brush through it in the morning. Of course it's not suitable to have hair that long when you get to my age-"

Sherlock was immediately impressed by the domesticity of it all. Mrs. Hudson nattering away, Serene looking up at her with open affection. She must sense him because her eyes dart to him and Mrs. Hudson pauses in her chatter.

"Good Morning Sherlock, it's been awhile since you've slept so late. I've talked to Mr. Chatterjee and he is fine if you take the car, just be careful with it on those back roads."

"A car?" Sherlock looks at Serene, his eyebrows quirked upwards.

"I thought we would look at the summer cottage today."

"Oh a summer cottage, how lovely. A little time a way just the two of you, of course it is starting to turn cold. You'll have to-"

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock silences her.

"Right dear, I'll leave you to it." She stands taking the dishes and the comb with her.

Serene begins re-braiding her hair and Sherlock tries not to watch the way her hair pulls and twists or think of the feel of it running through his fingers. Being alone in a car with her suddenly does not feel so wise.

"I thought the summer house was a ruse, why the sudden interest?"

"I had faith that there would be nothing easily uncovered about the Loewen case. It's the closest thing Graham and Liam have to an ancestral home. If there is some sort of legacy we don't understand then it is as good a place as any to start."

"I see." Sherlock pauses smoothing the front of his suit jacket. "And what about Lestrade? He doesn't want you on the case."

"He knows I am here. He wouldn't give up if I asked him to. Why should I?"

"Would you ask him to? Give up? Leave something be?"

"No."

"Then it is a meaningless comparison. He has said not to involve you, why should I risk my connection with Scotland Yard for this?"

"Because I will go without you."

"I have the map."

"I have the key."

He laughs to himself, pleased with the idea of taking her away to spite Lestrade, keyed up at the thought of new clues. More information to end this case. He walks with purpose to his coat and throws it on, wrapping a scarf around his neck.

"We shouldn't waste anymore time then."