Author's Note: Still no reviews? I know it's ruddy brilliant. Anyways, enjoy chapter 2 inspired by Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop by Landon Pigg. This one is just some fluffy fluff that I thoroughly enjoyed writing. Still no beta, by the way.

Enjoy!~

"Yes, Watson." I heard him say through the door. I turn the handle and walk inside.

"I know it's terribly late, but I can't sleep." I say. When I look up at him, all thoughts sort of fall apart. He's clad in nothing but his robe, lounging in his chair with his pipe by the window. There's barely any light at all, aside the cool dawn that's creeping up on his skin.

He's beautiful. There's never been any denying that. It's nights like this with his hair tousled and eyes black when I want nothing more than to forget the world and be with him.

"What is it, John?" He doesn't look at me. His eyes are fixed on the streets below.

"I think that possibly... maybe I've fallen for you."

He does look at me then. I can't read his expression. "I beg your pardon."

"You heard me." I can't stand to look at him any more. "I can't sleep. Despite how insane you make me feel and how much I'd like to punch that pretty little face of yours half the time... the other half... I just want to..."

"Kiss me." he says. He hasn't moved, but the sun has slowly risen over the building tops into our home. It's like everything's transformed in a moment. And we can never go back.

"I shouldn't. Holmes, what I feel is wrong... I can't help it."

He moves towards me, the robe fluttering with each movement, exposing skin. He's just inches away. He smells like tobacco. His hand cups my face. "Stop thinking." he says, leaning in closer and closer until our lips just brush.

"I can't." I say, "I'm trying."

"If I can't have you, I'd rather be alone. You can trust me, John. Just like always."

I kiss him then. His scruff against my chin and his lips against mine and his hands on my face, the smell of tobacco and coffee taste on my tongue, the way his breath exhales from his nose onto my skin, my hands on his shoulders, pushing the robe away... I lock each piece of the moment away to remember always.

His hands push away my night shirt and our hands explore our skin. We're perfectly in synch, reading each other like our favourite novels, savouring each movement and touch and breath and moan.

"Please," he says as I break away.

"I never knew just what it was about you that I loved so much. It's like you're my other half. I didn't know anyone could know me like you do." I'm not certain if I'm rambling nonsense, romantic bullshit, or a combination of the both.

"I love you," he says, his head rested on my chest, his breath tickling my neck.

"Lets stay in bed all day."

"Don't you have church?"

I smile, and it feels most genuine and happy-two things I rarely feel. "You're insufferable."

We're on his bed now. Sunlight on our bare skin. Skin on skin. Kiss after kiss. I'm losing track of all time. I'm lost in this fantasy of him with no shields. It's just John and Sherlock. There's no wedding or world, just us sharing lazy kisses as dawn breaks this Sunday morning. And it's everything I ever wanted.

He touching me and stroking me. He's not rough or fast. I just keep caressing each new inch of skin that I'd never been able to before. We let out airy sighs and light moans, kisses fill the silence.

"I want you," I say in between kisses. Everything is getting too hot and there's not enough friction... or passion. "I want more."

"I'm yours," he replies, flipping our bodies. "what would you have me do?"

"I don't know... I don't know how to do this."

It's when the truth comes out my fantasy shatters. I can never move forward because I've never tried. I've never been with a man before and I don't know how, but all of me wants to be with him aside this one terrified piece that doesn't want to be hurt or outcast. I just want some normalcy in my life. Yet it's impossible because I am so deeply in love with the strangest, most brilliant man I have ever met. I want to know how to be with him. So, I gather all my courage and knock on his door.

"Holmes," I say, half-hoping he's asleep, "Are you awake?"