Wow, so much positive response to my first chapter. Thank you to each and every one of you that took the time to give feedback. I hope this second chapter continues to meet with your approval.

Normal disclaimers apply. And be warned here there lies smut.

Chapter 2

When John arrived at Baker St., the next day, Sherlock was still in his pyjamas lying on the settee.

'Do you ever get dressed nowadays?'

'No need, no cases, I'm bored. There's no point being dressed if I'm bored. Find me a case, anything.'

John made his way over to Sherlock's laptop switching it on before making his way through to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

'What about the case of the Red Headed League that Lestrade asked you to look at on Monday?'

'Dull, dull, dull, solved it before Lestrade had even finished giving me the details. There must be some good murders somewhere, find me one and if you can't find me one find me some cigarettes. I've had enough with these nicotine patches.'

John came back through carrying two mugs of tea and dumped one on the table in front of Sherlock, 'you know maybe if you looked for your own cases it would pass the time, ease the boredom somewhat...and Elizabeth is fine, thanks for asking!'

'Elizabeth...who's Elizabeth? Oh, the baby. Well I assumed that as you are here with me and not there with her everything must be fine. Why would I need to ask when I know? God social conventions are so tedious, so boring.' He swept his dressing gown over himself and rolled away from John to face the wall.

John sighed as he signed into Sherlock's e-mail account, deleting the junk and the troll emails, filtering out those that appeared more interesting so he could read them out to Sherlock. Honestly Sherlock hadn't even looked at his account since the last time he had been here.

'Oh, there's one from Molly...does she often e-mail you? No, of course she doesn't, I'd know if she did seeing as I'm the only one who ever bloody well opens this account. She's sent you an attachment and written...Sherlock, this is just how I feel, please listen, Molly...Hmm, bit unusual.' He clicked on the link.

As the sounds of a piano started to fill the room Sherlock twisted his head round to look at the laptop frowning. A lone, male voice started to sing the words that Molly had heard the night before.

John and Sherlock were both silent as they listened to the haunting melody and the words imploring Sherlock to do something, say something.

By the time it had come to a close Sherlock was facing the back of the settee again. John sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face, 'oh wow, mate, what are you going to do?'

'Do, do about what John? She clearly had too much to drink last night, got maudlin and sent me some random sentimental rubbish, what exactly would you have me do? Rush down there with a bunch of flowers and a rainbow in my back pocket and sweep her off her feet! I'm going to do nothing. She'll wake up hung over and embarrassed and won't thank me for mentioning it to her.'

'But what if that's how she really feels? Do you have any feelings for her...in that way? Have you ever had feelings for anyone in that way?'

Sherlock was silent for a moment before replying. 'It doesn't really matter whether or not I have feelings for Molly. The important thing is I have no intention of doing anything.'

John's mouth dropped open, 'so you do have feelings for her?'

Sherlock huffed and sat up. He ruffled his hair in frustration, 'did you not just hear me?'

'I did, but I don't get it. If you like her why wouldn't you want to pursue it.'

'Because I'm not like you John, I don't just pursue anything that moves. It's not important, this is important,' he pointed to his head, 'my work is important, feelings...feelings are a distraction...feelings are not important.'

'Well, they might not be to you, but they obviously are to Molly. What if she meets someone else? How would you 'feel' then?' He put air quotes round the word to emphasise it to his irritatingly obstinate friend.

'Irrelevant, Molly has dated plenty of men since I've known her and she's still here isn't she.' He said it with all the finality of a statement rather than a question.

'But what if she left? Left Bart's, left London? What then?'

'Pffft she wouldn't.'

'She might, you need to think about this Sherlock because once she's gone you might never get her back again.'

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly did indeed wake up hung over but not initially embarrassed. She padded through to her kitchen desperate for some paracetamol and water followed by a nice hot, cup of coffee. She groaned as she waited for the kettle, eyeing the empty bottle on the side. She really, really needed to stop drinking so much.

She poured the coffee and made her way into the dishevelled front room to put the breakfast news on. It was only as she flopped down onto the settee that she noticed the laptop was on the coffee table, open and switched on. She frowned as she reached forward to switch it off before she gasped in horror, memories from the night before rushing back to her, nonononononono. Surely she hadn't, please say that she hadn't.

She opened up her email account and clicked on sent items, holding her breath as she did...oh god she had, she'd sent some sappy song to Sherlock telling him how she felt about him. She was never going to be able to face him again.

Maybe she wouldn't have to, she sighed with relief as she opened up the new email from Mike telling her the secondment had been approved and she would be starting at Charing Cross on Monday.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

John had left an hour earlier. They'd spent the remainder of his time going through the rest of Sherlock's emails. Most were a waste of time but two had been invited to Baker St. the next day to put their cases to John and Sherlock in person. Sherlock didn't hold out much hope for either of them being interesting though, they just seemed slightly less boring than the rest.

He had finally got dressed and was sitting in his arm chair plucking on his violin, lost in thought. Thoughts which kept coming back to Molly and that song.

He hadn't let on to John but it had affected him much more than he'd said. Would she ever leave him and how would he actually feel about that? He closed his eyes trying to imagine his life without her in it. He'd be fine wouldn't he? He'd lived his life without her, before he'd met her...he just couldn't picture it though. It seemed empty without her.

He thought of the morgue without her incites, her deft hand slicing through the cadavers with unflinching experience. He loved watching her conduct autopsies, she was always so confident, so in control.

He thought of the lab, their companionable silences, shared jokes, the coffee, listening to her opinions of his work, always knowledgeable, sharing his interests. They had so much more in common that even he and John.

So, no he couldn't imagine his life without her in it, didn't want to... but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to pursue a physical relationship. How could he, he had no idea how to even start something?

A small voice in his head told him he was lying and he knew it. After all he'd started something with Janine. It didn't matter that it was for a case, he'd known how to ask her out, how to go on dates, how to kiss her. He grimaced as he remembered kissing Janine. It had been horrible, intrusive and seemingly endless. Why would he want to do that with Molly, how would it be any different?

He found Molly's room in his mind palace and walked it. For the first time he actively noticed how his breathing shallowed out, his body relaxed as he entered. She calmed him, he felt safe and comfortable here. He used the room to recall her scent, the sound of her voice. He tried to think about how it made him feel. It was hard; trying to think about feelings did not come naturally to him. He would normally ignore them, lock them away rather than try to find them.

He stood in Molly's room, inside his head, and imagined himself kissing her. Her face came to him easily, hair up in her normal ponytail. She looked up at him eagerly, smiling; she was always smiling in his memory. He put his hands on her face imagining the feel of her soft skin under his palms and he leant in to kiss her. As his lips touched hers he felt his heart rate pick up, could feel his pulse beating, he felt warmer.

The kiss deepened quicker than he had thought it would he knew his breathe was shallower, he wanted this, wanted her. His tongue dove into her mouth, tasting her...but no. He opened his eyes, flung from his mind palace. He wanted to taste her, but he didn't know what she tasted of, there was no knowledge there; it was blank.

He sat up in his chair, the violin forgotten at the side. It was only as he sat up that he realised he had an erection, not just that but he was painfully hard. His mouth opened in shock, he occasionally woke up with an erection but couldn't remember the last time he'd got one during the day and never from being in his mind palace.

He settled back in his chair waiting for it to go down. He concentrated on his breathing, trying to calm his body but every time he closed his eyes he saw Molly again, saw himself kissing her all over again. After fifteen minutes he banged the arm of the chair in frustration and wondered what he should do, it wasn't going to go away by itself, if anything it was getting worse, and he didn't want to have to shower. He huffed in frustration before standing to lock his flat door, it really wouldn't do for anyone to walk in on him.

He unbuttoned himself from his trousers and sat back down in his chair. He closed his eyes, trying not to think too much about what he was about to do. He made his way back to Molly's room. She was there waiting for him. This time she was lying on his bed, how had his bed got into her room? He ignored that thought and walked towards her. She was still in her lab coat, bare legs tucked underneath her as she sat waiting for him.

As he got closer he gasped as he realised she was only wearing a lab coat and nothing else. He reached for himself, sliding his hand down his shaft hissing at the sensation. In his mind he reached for her, he sat beside her, his hand on her neck brushing the hair away. It wasn't in a ponytail now but was loose around her shoulders.

He unbuttoned her coat as his hand gripped his hard-on, he felt his hips buck upwards desperate for more friction and movement so he started to slide his hand up and down, stroking himself.

Her skin was soft and creamy as one by one he popped the buttons. The coat slipped from her shoulders pooling at her waist leaving her breasts bare to him. He recalled once commenting on their size and felt confusion, how had he ever thought they were anything other than perfect. He palmed them both as his hips moved in time with his hand. He was panting now, eyes scrunched shut, hand tightening and pumping faster.

He sucked her nipple into his mouth and listened to her moaning her approval. He pushed her backwards so she fell onto the bed and he moved above her finding himself naked. She was wet for him and he pushed into her feeling her warmth feeling his orgasm building fast.

He was oblivious to everything else apart from the needs of his own traitorous body, the body he'd always tried to think of in terms of transport, it was transport no more. He came, catching his excretion in tissues which he threw onto the fire in disgust.

He yelled in frustration and fell forward, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. What was he going to do now?

Sherlock's turn to feel frustrated and confused. How will he deal with it? What do you think he should do?