Hello and welcome back for the final time, ladies and gents :) well, well, well, will I be nice or not? Shall we find out, lol...xx

The night air was warm and fresh, a light wind brushed past and cooled clubbers who were relaxing outside. But even the light breeze couldn't cool the heat surging through the couple dashing hurriedly down the street towards their hotel. Sherlock and Molly faintly heard Chris calling after them but were too busy to care about his words. Neither were sure who was pulling whom but they managed to make it quickly across the street and tumble through the entrance, attempting to compose themselves and hide their desire; they didn't want to attract the attention of the staff. They nonchalantly made their way towards the lifts, avoiding each other's gaze but the receptionist was waving them over exaggeratingly.

"Monsieur Holmes, pardonnez-moi…uh…message…" the receptionist was grinning broadly and Sherlock groaned impatiently, glancing towards Molly as he tried not to run towards the desk.

"What? Oh, it's just Mycroft…leave it," Sherlock was tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk and the receptionist looked blank, smiling falsely. Sherlock scowled, gritting his teeth, "um…it's my brother, mon frère. Not important," another confused glance and Sherlock was almost jumping up and down in his haste, his lust-clouded mind working at its maximum, "pas d'importance. Good night- bonne nuit."

He turned around and frowned when he saw Molly had disappeared, most likely to wait by the lifts. He found her nearby, scowling at the out of order sign in the middle of the elevator; Sherlock wasn't known for his patient demeanour and forcefully tugged Molly in the direction of the stairwell. They staggered upstairs, each step they took only increased their need for each other, their excitement building as they pondered their upcoming night. Molly ran as fast as her jellied legs would carry her, her heart racing as she could feel Sherlock behind her. He caught up with her and wrapped his hands around her waist, breathing into her ear.

"Molly…I-"

"No…not here. We're…almost there…"

She had been wrong. It had been almost two floors later and both were getting desperate; Sherlock had to forcefully restrain his hands several times. They emerged into the hallway, glancing quickly down the hall before gripping each other's hands and heading towards their room.

"Key…" Molly breathed down his neck; she had pressed herself tight against his back and draped her arms over his shoulders, massaging his chest slowly. Sherlock rummaged in his trouser pockets whilst Molly removed her hands and thoroughly searched his back pockets. He swallowed hard, his voice husky.

"Didn't you have it?" Molly frowned, her nose buried in his sweet-smelling hair and only just managing to shake her head; the CCTV cameras were certainly getting an eyeful. Molly gulped audibly before resting her chin on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Well…we'll have to call someone…" Molly's breath caressed his skin teasingly and Sherlock huffed; not even caring anymore, he attempted to kick the door down. Molly stopped him though, and pointed at the lock, "can't you pick the lock?"

Sherlock mumbled something about it being the same thing before sighing and removing his card, slotting it through the door. It worked and the door clicked open, delighting the flustered pair waiting eagerly outside.

John tapped his fingers impatiently on the table and Mary smiled smugly, folding her arms. Finally, after much silent thinking, John shook his head.

"No. There's no way Sherlock and Molly left to…do that. I know Sherlock, if there's one thing he doesn't do it's 'relationships'."

"Who said anything about 'relationships'? For all we know this could be a…" she gestured with her hands, until clicking her fingers after finding the right words, "'when you gotta, you gotta' kind of thing."

John snorted and tapped his chin, tilting his head. "Still, it's peculiar…I know they've gotten closer but are they really that close?"

Mary smirked deviously before leaning close to his ear, eliminating the need to shout over the music.

"There's only one way to find out." John had been about to protest when his arm was tugged at fiercely by his girlfriend, determined to discover the truth.

The room door hit the wall with a resounding crash, probably rousing several snoozing guests but neither Sherlock nor Molly cared in the slightest as they tumbled inside, hastily trying to remove their shoes. Molly's sandals were kicked aside and Sherlock hopped on one leg to pull off his expensive Armani's, having given up trying to work his fumbling hands with the laces. For a moment they simply watched each other's chests rise and fall rapidly, betraying the passion they had for each other. The door was kicked closed then and the hotel room was plunged into darkness. For some reason, this only elevated their desire; there was something about not knowing where he was or what he was doing that excited Molly. He could be standing in front of her, teasingly reaching forwards or circling her slowly to approach from behind. Sherlock felt exhilarated and his hands were craving for touch, he couldn't stand it anymore. He stepped forwards confidently, certain she hadn't moved an inch – cat and mouse, Miss Hooper…I like it – but found himself crashing into something soft and hot almost directly in front of him.

"What are you waiting for?" Molly's voice was breathy and barely audible and, knowing she couldn't see him, Sherlock smirked widely.

"I'm just playing the game." Sherlock's voice was huskier and deeper than he had expected; he heard her soft chuckle, impatience clear in her voice.

"Mary gave up for us, remember?"

Sherlock grinned and brought his hand forwards, grazing the skin above her chest to her throat, almost feeling it tingle beneath his touch. They barely registered the muffled arguing outside the door and the sound of the door again and the light flickering on. He dropped his hand to his side and whirled to face an apologetic John and questioning Mary; it was clear she had intended to burst in on them 'at it'. She frowned and took in their irritated looks, registering John's silent nudges.

"Oh, sorry…uh, sweet dreams…sorry to interrupt…"

They backed out slowly, John mortified and Mary confused, leaving the lights on as the door swung shut behind them. What was she expecting to see? Oh, I don't care. The second it was closed, Sherlock and Molly simultaneously seized the front of each other's clothing and both were pulled into the most ferocious kiss either had ever experienced. Sherlock wasn't sure where his hands wanted to roam first but settled for running his fingers through her hair as they attacked each other's lips. Molly's own fingers danced playfully along his shirt, dropping lower and lower until he stepped away, both breathing heavily through their mouths to get as much air as possible.

"I…knew you'd be…good at…that…"

They caught each other's eye at the simultaneous statement before swollen lips magnetised together again. He didn't care how impatient he was, he wanted to trace every line on her body, feel every curve and study her as carefully as possible. Molly's hands were in his hair, curling the silky black strands around her fingers and tugging ever so slightly. The both moaned at the feel and Sherlock moved away from her lips to kiss down her creamy neck. He drank in her moans and soft sighs, his hands dropping to her hips and bringing her closer to him. Sherlock landed on the bed as Molly moved them forwards, her shaky hands working hard at his buttons.

"For God's…sake…"

Sherlock was certain she was close to ripping them clean off and settled for claiming her lips again, grasping her hands to steady them; they didn't pause when both felt a vibration from Sherlock's pocket. He hastily removed his phone and threw it against the wall, returning his hand to caress her thighs; Mycroft wasn't going to disturb them tonight. Molly hummed in satisfaction as she finally managed to slip the white shirt from his muscled shoulders and back, tossing it into a corner somewhere, raking her nails all over his chest and trailing her lips down his torso.

"Molly-"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

She raised a questioning eyebrow, sitting up and grinning at his scowl; he was clearly enjoying the feel of her soft 'too small' lips grazing over his body with her sharp, pleasurable nails following. She giggled manically as Sherlock rolled them over and began his tedious search for her elusive dress zip. There was urgent need for contact once more so he pressed his lips to hers hungrily and roamed her still clothed breasts. They were so lost in each other and the feeling of soft, hot skin, both jumped when the room's phone rang loudly. Sherlock, still focusing entirely on Molly, reached blindly for the phone, breaking away from her lips only momentarily.

"Fuck off."

The phone was slammed down hard, missing the receiver and Sherlock immediately returned to Molly, pressing hard kisses around the top of her dress. Giggling, moaning and sighs filled the room, both ignoring the soft squeaking sounds from the phone; Sherlock felt her hands pushing gently at his chest and moved away to observe her heaving frame and swollen lips.

"Protection?" This was all Molly could manage under the circumstances but she was replied with a roll of the eyes and a scoff.

"Do you really think I'd go this far and not come prepared?"

He chuckled slightly, tapping his trouser pocket and resuming the passionate claim of her lips, his hands refusing to behave themselves…

Freddie stopped in the middle of the dancefloor to retrieve the room key that had dropped from the fit detective's pocket. He shrugged, wondering if he should return them; the sight of Sherlock in pyjamas was too tempting and he found himself smirking. There was an undeniable chemistry between them, of course; Freddie felt that with everyone. He winked at Chris, a signal he was 'on the pull' and therefore leaving him in charge. Chris rolled his eyes but smiled at his friend and Freddie was off, waltzing towards the hotel the key belonged to. A thought occurred to him, then. What if Sherlock left it on purpose? He knew I'd find it…oooh. His steps quickened but he was side-lined several times by anyone who managed to turn his head as they walked past (Chris often said he had a 'Captain Jack complex', whatever that meant). He walked confidently down the street and fixed his long hair, his smile large as he entered the large building…

"There, that's better…isn't it…"

"No."

Sherlock had located Molly's zip, only to get it stuck halfway down. She had giggled whereas he cursed the designer of such a retched item. Her suggestion of simply rucking up the dress hadn't gone down well. Even after a demonstration; he tilted his head, his hair severely messy and skin flushed red.

"Just lift it over your head…it's not that tight. Please…" he was pouting and it was gorgeous, to be honest. Completely irresistible in fact and Molly sighed, gesturing for his help.

"This is romantic…" Sherlock tugged forcefully but the dress wouldn't budge and he chuckled.

"Romantic? We should take it slower if you want romance…candles and wine, all that stuff people do." She smirked and caressed his cheek softly, her nails grazing over his sharp cheekbones.

"Absolutely not…I want you, now…"

This seemed to be enough motivation for Sherlock; he seized the bottom of the garment and fiercely pulled it over her head in one go. He smiled satisfactorily and folded his arms, drinking in every single aspect of her. He didn't have long to marvel at the wonderful sight, though, for Molly was wrenching at his belt, forgetting it needed to be unbuckled first. Neither registered the sound of the door opening as the trousers were tossed aside. Freddie frowned at the muffled 'ready?' and the soft reply of 'oh, yes'. He was frozen to the spot at the sound of ripping; what is he doing? Who is he with? Maybe I should leave. He turned on his heel but stopped at a short giggle that turned into a strangled moan. He peered into the bedroom; he could faintly make out two pairs of entwined legs and dents in the mattress every now and again. Ah, looks like he's already having some fun. I'll just go and check what time that receptionist finishes work and if Chris is drunk yet. He closed the door louder than he expected and Molly paused, lifting her head from Sherlock's neck.

"What was that?"

"I don't know…I don't care…so don't…stop…"

Molly shrugged it away, resuming the hip-rocking movements Sherlock had enjoyed so much; it was very experimental, searching for what the other liked and making mental notes for round two. Soon, they were going at it, quickly and roughly; Molly was on her back with Sherlock above her, biting down into her skin as he pounded her. Oh god, it was good. They couldn't be close enough to each other as their sweat-soaked bodies rubbed passionately together. They could no longer contain themselves and were audibly sighing and moaning pleasurably, not caring about their neighbours. Molly's breathy whispers of his name into his ear whilst she gripped tightly to his hair was enough to drive Sherlock mad with desire and only made things more erratic. Molly's name sounded beautiful falling from Sherlock's lips as he tried to keep it in; it was bliss, only they got to see this side to each other. Their blackened eyes, the animalistic need to be inside each other and their shared body movements were theirs and only theirs to enjoy. Neither could believe they managed to last as long as they did in the circumstances but Sherlock and Molly had both been thoroughly…fucked.

He managed to collapse next to her, their heads where their feet normally would be at the bottom of the bed. Neither realised how loud they had been before but now they blushed, avoiding each other's gaze. They were breathing rapidly; Molly's hair was heavily knotted and Sherlock's chest displayed lipstick marks and scratches, both their necks covered in lovebites. The pillows were askew and some had even fallen to the floor.

"You…you lost…" Sherlock shook his head vigorously at Molly's claim. He turned his heavy head towards her, noting how she was biting into her lip, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

"No…we…we both…won…I think…" Molly nodded in agreement and shimmied towards him, snuggling against his chest.

After their breathing returned to normal, Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom and Molly sighed contentedly, wondering who on Earth wanted to bother them so urgently earlier. This was when she noticed, with a horrifying lurch, the phone was hanging from the table.

"Don't worry. I daresay they hung up before they heard anything." Molly bit her lip, hoping he was right. She was sticky with sweat and was eager for a shower, Sherlock's fidgeting told her he was too. She turned to him and traced her fingers delicately over his scratches.

"I didn't mention it before but…you're beautiful…" Sherlock chuckled and pulled her close to him, kissing her forehead gently.

"So are you, Miss Hooper. More than I first thought," he paused and swallowed, "um, how…how was…it?"

Molly couldn't help but chuckle; she had never heard Sherlock stutter before but he really had nothing to worry about. That being said, Molly couldn't help but mess with him.

"Hmm, good, Sherlock. A six I'd say…" his eyes widened, clearly about to protest but Molly flicked her tongue across her lips, "we can try and boost it to a seven if you want?"

She was pulling him to the bathroom and, pride and ego bruised, Sherlock pouted but allowed himself to be dragged along, muttering to himself.

"Six…you seemed to like it, if your decibel level was anything to go by…" Molly giggled as Sherlock wrapped his arms around her waist and moved them into the shower. She bit her lip, gazing into his blue eyes.

"Hmm…maybe an eight…" his grin was childish and smug; Molly was only too pleased to wipe it away with a searing kiss…

Sherlock and Molly joined John and Mary at their breakfast table, hand in hand. John raised his eyebrows and even Mary looked surprised. They sat opposite their friends and waited for the onslaught of questions. Finally, Mary narrowed her eyes and folded her arms.

"Well…congratulations, I suppose. I hope it was worth us losing sleep…"

Sherlock and Molly caught each other's eye and both nodded in agreement; John couldn't help but smile at his smitten friends. They sat in silence for a few moments and watched a hungover Chris manoeuvre between guests whilst avoiding his boss' tea towel. The receptionist of the hotel approached and gave Sherlock the message he wasn't interested in last night, grumbling to himself in French as he stomped away. Sherlock sighed and tore the letter open; it wasn't yesterday's…this one was new.

Dear brother,

Ignoring my texts doesn't work. How do I know you won't tear this up? Because I have some interesting information you'd be interested in. Apparently, if your Inspector is correct, you have left for France with the-

Sherlock was on the brink of tearing the letter in half but skipped ahead to the part Mycroft deemed interesting.

-and this is where the interesting information comes into play. As you know, I attempted to text but found you weren't replying. I then attempted to catch you off-guard (not something I am an expert at doing, you understand) by placing a call at your hotel.

Sherlock felt his ears growing pink as he continued to read his brother's fancy scrawl.

Now, brother…language like that isn't acceptable. I am aware of your closeness and strange attraction to that pathologist you work with. If I was unfortunate to interrupt your relations with her I do apologise. I obviously disconnected as soon as I realised what I had stumbled upon. Although, it is nice to hear you are taking care and being safe. I hope you have a nice holiday and, for the sake of my future sanity, please ensure you place the phone down properly afterwards. Your brother, Mycroft

Molly, who had been reading over Sherlock's shoulder, was also blushing and biting her lip. He tucked the letter away, making a mental note to kill his brother when he returned to London. He frowned at John and Mary who were simply staring into space.

"Well? By now you usually ask what that was all about." Mary finished her coffee and smacked her lips several times before looking at the detective smugly.

"Oh, we don't need to…Mycroft sent us a copy," Molly choked on her drink and Sherlock scowled, especially at the way John was trying not to laugh, "yeah, he didn't want to leave us out…"

Mycroft could do anything he wanted, now, Sherlock didn't care. His attempts to embarrass him had lasted only a short while. Sherlock had something that Mycroft couldn't ruin, a relationship with his pathologist. They stayed in their hotel room for the remainder of their trip, leaving the phone off the hook and locking the door so no one could interrupt them. John and Mary wouldn't next see them until they had to leave for the ferry on the way back, both oddly tanned and smiling widely, hands intertwined fiercely. This had certainly been a trip to remember…

xx Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this little story. If you want, check out my other stories...thank you so much and have a nice day/evening ;) xx