Re-affirmation of Disclaimer- I own no characters, places, or stories referenced within. They belong to Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The only gain I seek to make from writing this is for my own enjoyment.

A/N: Soooo, I made a mistake in naming the last chapter when uploading it. Chapter 6 is rightfully called "Running in the Rain". I jumped the gun…I swear that's never happened to me before. (ha ha). As always I would love feedback, gives me a kick to see people making this a 'favorite' and reviewing it. Thank-you lovely people! Also if anyone is interested; the case discussed in chapter 6 is pulled from "The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire" by Doyle's The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes. "The Adventure of the Lion's Mane" from the same work is referenced in this chapter.

Chapter 7: Bare Feet

Sherlock hit the delete key on his phone vindictively as he opened the door to his flat. Mycroft always seemed to know his business and he particularly didn't want Mycroft knowing this business. John was still at work; the flat was empty and quiet. The only sound was the soft patter of the rain against the windows. The light was diluted by the blanket of grey clouds that had moved over the city. Under normal circumstances this would have been the optimal conditions for thinking about a case. His mind, uncluttered, would be able to expand to see all the minute details that hung together in only one way. Today, with no case to mull over, and with this sudden…interesting….development, he was antsy. He could not stand the silence. Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play but it couldn't hold his attention for more than a few minutes. He tossed it and his bow onto the couch. Sherlock paced the room running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't stop thinking about the feel of her lips on his and the smell of her dewy hair. With a frustrated grunt of self-abhorrence he grabbed his skull off the mantle and stormed out of the apartment.

Cecilia was busy baking that afternoon. She was sad that her Aunt would be leaving in the next few days; they had grown extremely close in the short time she had been here. And she didn't feel she was ready to be living alone in a big city; a big, confusing, and loud city. She tended to bury these feelings of inadequacy by doing something that she was skilled in. Right now that was baking her famous butterscotch cookies. She thought, at the very least, John would enjoy them. After they cooled she loaded up a plate and headed up to 221b. She knocked on the door but no one answered. This was not that unusual as John was the only one who answered the door and he had been working at the clinic more and more lately. Cecilia tried the door hoping that Sherlock was still home; she needed to measure how he reacted; she wanted to know if she had played her hand too soon. The door was unlocked! Her stomach clenched and she swallowed hard. It was all for nothing, however, as the apartment was empty. Sherlock had left the door unlocked. Cecilia shook her head; Sherlock never did see the importance of all the little things like locking one's doors, or often even closing them. She put the cookies on the counter and grabbed the pad by the phone. She wrote a note to John letting him know that the cookies were for him. She turned and surveyed the empty, and now clean and tidy, apartment. It was still raining and the streetlights illuminated the rivulets of water running across the windowpanes. Sherlock, surely, was avoiding her; she had been swept up in the moment and had ruined everything. She saw his violin lying on the couch. She sat on the couch and picked it up, holding it the way she had seen Sherlock hold it, thinking somehow this would bring him closer to her. She felt silly, she hadn't acted this way since she was in high school, crushing on celebrities and collecting posters from magazines. Morosely, she put the violin away in its case. She stared at the windows for a few disappointed minutes and then resigned herself to another night of watching television and then falling asleep reading in bed; and, if she were being really honest, there would probably be many similar nights to follow.

-ding-

Cecilia was confused. She had been woken up out of a deep sleep by her phone. Groggily she looked at the damned gadget; the light from the screen hurt her eyes. It was three o'clock in the morning and Sherlock had just texted her. She considered ignoring it and going back to sleep but she couldn't ignore the little spark of excitement that kindled when she saw his name. Upon reading the text her confusion returned.

: Skull is sticky. Help. Now.

: SH

"What the…" she whispered out loud. "Is that slang?" she wondered. She realized she had better go up and see; even if she had a conversation to try to figure out what he meant he wouldn't let her sleep until she had gone up anyways. Already missing her warm blankets she rolled out of bed. She threw her housecoat on over her pajamas, a camisole and matching shorts. She stepped into her slippers; Mrs. Hudson had given them to her for her birthday two years ago and even though they were ridiculous they were some of her most prized possessions. They were huge and brown and furry; they looked like bear paws and had little stuffed claws coming out of each 'toe'. She quietly left the apartment taking pains to not wake up her Aunt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the entryway and ran her fingers through her long hair as she climbed the stairs. The door was ajar, light from the flat spilled out into the hallway. Cecilia pushed the door open.

Sherlock was sitting splay legged on the floor. His head was laid back on the seat of his chair and the skull was right beside it. It was as though Sherlock had two heads, one boney and terrifying…and the other was a skull. When she arrived Sherlock was rambling about jellyfish.

"It was a Lion's mane jellyfish, you see?" He then giggled.

She assumed he was talking about some case. He lifted his head to look at her but he seemed to be having trouble focusing.

"Sherlock?" she asked. There were many questions that were fighting amongst each other to be asked next. She settled on "Are you drunk?"

"Very likely, given the amount of alcohol I've consumed."

"Why?"

"It seemed like a good way to deal with something that's bothering you." He motioned to her.

She recalled her experience with the severed head and her red-wine bandage. She wanted to ask what was bothering him but she wasn't sure she actually wanted to hear the answer. " Why did you text me?"

"John's at work." He was regretting his decision to text her. He had wanted her to come upstairs. But now that she was actually in front of him…dressed like that… Self destructive habits tend to follow one another, especially when he was bored.

"Okay. What do you mean by 'skull is sticky'?"

Sherlock turned his head to the skull in his chair. He reached up and stuck his fingers into the eye sockets and lifted it down. He rolled it along the floor to Cecilia's feet. "It'll never be the same."

Cecilia picked up the skull. It was far heavier than one would expect and, indeed, it was sticky. She sniffed it and it reeked of stale beer. "I'll see what I can do, but I don't think anyone knows how to get beer out of bone." She couldn't believe what she was saying. She walked over to the kitchen and put the skull down on the island. She noticed that the cling film over the cookies had been pulled up and a few cookies missing. "The way to a man's heart is to feed him cookies when he's drunk" she joked to herself, then shook her head. The only reason she was here right now was because John was busy. She filled a glass of water and grabbed some aspirin from the medicine cupboard. She walked back into the living room, her footsteps nearly silent due to her slippers. Sherlock was still leaning his head back on the seat of his chair. His eyes were closed. Cecilia knelt down beside him.

"Sherlock?" she called softly.

He opened his eyes and stared at her in mild surprise. "I didn't hear you."

"That's because I'm in bear-feet." She said offhandedly, trying not to laugh.

He stared at her for a long time, and then cracked the glimmer of a smile. "That was horrible."

"Take some." She pushed two pills into his hand.

"Will they make you funnier?"

"No, but you'll thank me tomorrow." He put them in his mouth and she handed him the glass. He drained it as she stood up. His hand shot out and caught hers. She stopped breathing and they locked eyes. Even with the cloudiness of alcohol his eyes were alive with wit and intellect. She was about to speak but before she could he put the empty glass in her hand.

"Oh" she thought to herself on her way back to the darkened kitchen. She needed to leave. She was just embarrassing herself. She put the glass in the sink and stood staring at it for a few moments, lost in thought. She sighed, rubbing her eyes as she turned around. She opened her eyes and Sherlock was standing directly in front of her, looking intently upon her face. Suddenly he was against her, kissing her, his body pressed hers into the counter.

Disinhibited by the alcohol Sherlock was able to act. He expected, and even enjoyed, the soaring lurch that was now deeply associated with Cecilia's lips. He caressed her face; her skin was so soft. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled in at the small of her back. Cecilia was shocked that Sherlock could be so bold, but she didn't let the opportunity pass. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed back, funneling all her pent up desire into it. Sherlock briefly laced his fingers through her hair, but he kept moving his hands. He needed to experience all of her. He placed his fingers tips on her leg and slid them slowly up to her hip. Before he reached it, though, they both heard the front door open.

"Someone still awake?" John called quietly from the front door.

They flew apart like guilty teenagers. Cecilia straightened her pajamas. Sherlock quickly sat down at the table, slumping down in his chair and resting his forehead on his hand. This was only partly an act. Truth be told the combination of alcohol and the high of such visceral excitement had made him quite dizzy. John turned the corner into the kitchen.

" What are you doing up?" He eyed Cecilia. She looked flushed.

"Sherlock texted me." She forced herself to keep herself from smiling. "He's drunk." She whispered to John, nearly silently.

"Oh, you shouldn't have let him get you out of bed." Said John as he patted the skull in front of him. "Why is this sticky?"

"I gave him some aspirin and I was going to put him to bed." She shrugged. "You better let me do that. The last time Sherlock got drunk he got very 'handsy'…and that was with me." John smiled. "I couldn't imagine what trouble he could get into with someone so… uh….never mind." He trailed off. He didn't make eye contact for a few moments. "It's a good thing Sarah's not here."

"Don't worry John, thank-you for the compliment." She brushed off the awkwardness that this moment could have held.

John looked down at the plate of cookies and the note. "Did you bake me cookies?"

"Yes. Sorry. You got the brunt of my stress-baking; Auntie is moving out to the country for a while with some friends. Her doctor says she needs to get away for her condition to improve." Cecilia couldn't hide how upset she was about this.

"I didn't know it was that bad, I'm sorry."

She shook her head; she didn't trust herself to speak immediately. "I'm going to go back to bed." She left the apartment full of mixed feelings. Her aunt leaving was still too close to the surface. As she climbed back into her bed though she let her mind traipse back to those few stolen moments when Sherlock had kissed her. He had kissed her! She closed her eyes and slowly drifted back to sleep.