It was only to be expected that come Friday afternoon the bodies started stacking up.

"Oh come on Harry, cheer up," she'd called across to him, after noticing his long face as she placed the liver of her victim on the scales.

"Friday's are always quiet," he said sullenly.

"No they're not," she chuckled.

"You got anything suspicious then?" she asked Harry.

"Nope. You?"

"Not so far."

"Well we may be out of here on time after all. I'll pick you up about 6:30." Harry said as he finished his stitching.

Later he ran up the steps after pressing the buzzer outside her building. He knew she wouldn't be ready. They were only going dog racing. It wasn't as if she had to try hard. He wasn't entirely sure why she even had to come home first, she'd showered after finishing the autopsy. Most of the time he didn't even notice what she was wearing and she always looked attractive.

She opened the door to him a bottle of mascara in one hand, and obviously only half her face made up.

"Nikki Alexander," he scoffed. "You are going to the dogs!"

He chuckled to himself at his hilarious joke. Nikki glared at him and ran back into her room.

"I won't be a minute," she called.

"Good, because it'll take a while to get there,"

"I thought we agreed somewhere close," she said, popping her head around her bedroom doorway.

"No the track's in Wimbledon, they closed the one in Walthamstow years back."

"Wimbledon is hardly close," she whined.

"Ah, yes but if you want dogs…you have to go to Wimbledon."

She scowled at him again.

He put his head round her doorway and peeked in at her.

"Or Harlow."

"Harry!" she scolded. He put his head back out of her room again.

"Or Brighton," he peeked back in again.

"Harry!" she was laughing now.

"So will I do?" she asked. "Is this good enough to go to the dogs?"

Harry stepped into her bedroom and made a show of looking her up and down.

"No," he replied simply.

"NO!" she half shouted back incredulously. "You're hardly dressed up," she flicked her hand towards him as if to point out the fact he was still wearing his work trousers and had just changed his shirt.

"It's not the clothes – you look lovely," he said hastily, trying to ward off her anger. He moved to stand directly behind her, so he could look over her shoulder and into her dressing table's mirror.

"But this will not do," he indicated her hair which was still tied up behind her right ear.

Nikki caught his eye in the mirror and saw him smile at her.

"This evening was about letting our hair down," he insisted. "And this is most definitely not down."

It wasn't that he didn't like her hair done up. Of course when she was working she had to keep it tied back, he'd lost count of the number of times he'd pulled a long blonde hair out of his keyboard and he was surprised they didn't find more on the bodies. But recently the fancier styles had somehow made her look a bit prim and inaccessible. He didn't mind too much as the number of police officers and EMT's hanging around the place had dwindled but he wanted to spend the evening with Nikki; not some strait-laced version of herself she was adopting in a bid to portray maturity and self-sufficiency.

He studied the back of her head, suddenly becoming aware of her proximity, there must be clips or pegs or something keeping it in place he thought to himself. He tried hard to ignore the scent of her perfume, the way her shoulders touched his chest as she breathed in and her hips brushed against his. How hard would it be to untie her hairstyle? He'd combed and brushed the hair of many women, it was part of his job; he just had to keep in mind that Nikki was alive.

He spotted a small diamante pin head and carefully gave it a tug, a small section of hair fell down onto her shoulder. He ran his fingers through it to smooth it out. The instant he felt her soft hair run through his fingers it felt as if he'd been hit by a freight train. He swallowed and glanced up at her, startled at the force of his reaction to her. He'd only started to undress her hair.

With fingers shaking he searched and removed a second and third pin. Each time running his fingers through the section of hair that then fell down her back. He kept his eyes on the back of her head not daring to meet her gaze and expose the extent of his desire. Her right shoulder was still uncovered, he not started work on the bun yet. He brushed his fingers against her neck and was certain he heard her sigh.

They were supposed to be going greyhound racing, he told himself, he was imagining all this. He took another deep breath and looked into the mirror. He wasn't imagining this. Whereas his body had reacted to hers by becoming taut and hard, hers he noticed was softening and relaxing; her shoulders leaning further into him. Her eyes dark and unfocused.

He bent forwards and kissed the base of her neck, just on her collar bone and then began work on her bun.

"Just say the word," he whispered his voice thick with emotion. "Tell me to stop and I'll stop. We'll go to the pub, go dog racing, sit in uncomfortable silence at the cinema for a couple of hours and I'll never mention this again. Just say the word." He was smoothing the last few sections of hair, they were still slightly damp from her earlier shower and the curls and kinks making a lopsided pattern on her loose hair.

"No," she uttered.

"No?" he questioned; fearful that he had misread all the signs; that she didn't want this; that she wanted him to stop.

"No," she repeated emphatically. "I don't want you to stop."

He kissed her neck again and looked up to meet her eyes in the mirror.

"You did say tonight was to be something that we had never done before, something fun and something where we could let our hair down," she said.

"And you said it had to be close to home," Harry smiled.

"Kiss me," she said simply.

"Technically we have done that before," Harry explained. But Nikki had already spun round and reached her arms up and around his neck.

"Not like this," she smiled before capturing his lips with hers.

Harry circled his arms around her waist pulling her flush against him, and kissed her back.

The shift may have been subtle almost imperceptible but the feeling of her pressed up close to him was most definitely tangible, definitely real and one he never ever wanted to be without again.

And just in case it doesn't translate 'going to the dogs' is an English idiom that means you aren't taking care of yourself especially your appearance and or your morals.

Hopefully a bit of light relief for all of you in exam mode- good luck to you all.