Hey guys I've just finished work and have a whole week off and I'm in a really good mood; looking forward to lots of relaxing and lots of writing ;). Thank you all so much for your support with this fic, it really does mean a lot and it gives me the motivation to keep going.

Chapter 3

Sherlock drained his wine before opening the second bottle and pouring out another glass and Molly wondered if it was the alcohol that was making him so verbose.

'It changed when I hit my teens though; they tried but they couldn't keep me in the place. I was already drinking at weekends as well as smoking cigarettes and cannabis; it wasn't a huge step to move onto harder drugs and by the time I was sixteen and at university my ways were quite dissolute. Mycroft tried to keep me in check, of course. He was always the good one doing everything mummy and daddy asked of him.' His words were laced with resentment and anger and Molly wondered, not for the first time, what Sherlock would have been like in his teens.

She'd been the complete opposite to him. She had gone to university at eighteen and had kept out of trouble, worked hard, made the most of the opportunity offered to her, knowing how much her parents were sacrificing financially to give her that chance. She'd avoided too many nights out, though she'd had her fair share and been drunk a few times but she'd tried not to get too distracted by boyfriends. If she'd met Sherlock at that age would she have seen the genius or the junkie? Would she have been as attracted to him then as she still was to this day?

She had hoped that her feelings for him would mellow over time, morph into just platonic emotions but, god help her, they never had. If anything they became worse with every passing year and now he was proposing they sleep in the same tent together. She looked at her almost empty glass and made a mental note not to have any more to drink. The last thing she needed was to get too drunk and embarrass herself by coming on to him or worse.

The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon now and the camp site was getting dark. Molly turned and switched on the little travel lamp that she'd brought with her; it hung from the flap of the tent and was powered by batteries. It cast a gentle glow around them and Molly tried not to stare at the way it highlighted his sharp cheekbones and the hollows of shade beneath them.

The conversation moved onto work and a couple of Sherlock's recent cases and kept them occupied for another hour until Molly started to yawn. 'I think I'm going to turn in, I can't keep my eyes open.'

She stretched and then smiled at Sherlock before standing and bending to enter the tent to find her night clothes and wash bag. 'I'll be back in a minute.'

He nodded and turned his eyes back to the sea which was partially lit by a crescent moon.

Molly padded her way over to the shower block which wasn't too far away. She changed in one of the shower cubicles and then washed her face and brushed her teeth before looking at her reflection in the mirror. She chuckled to herself at the bizarre turn her holiday had taken. Of all the people she had thought might have come camping with her she had never once considered Sherlock. And yet, now he was here she was really enjoying herself. He seemed to be letting his barriers down a little and showing her more of the friend and less of the colleague. Her only qualm was the sleeping arrangement. She had seen the size of that air bed and whilst it was sold as being a double it most certainly wasn't.

She made her way back to see Sherlock now wearing his Belstaff round his shoulders for warmth but still sitting outside the tent. She suddenly felt a little awkward. 'Well...night then.'

He looked up as though he'd forgotten he was with someone. It made her wonder what he was thinking about.

'Yes, good night Molly. I won't be too long.'

She made her way into the tent and let down the flap but didn't zip it up. The inside was quite small with her belongings on one side and the air bed on the other. There was just enough head height for her to stand upright in the centre but nowhere else and she knew Sherlock wouldn't be able to stand.

She hadn't brought sleeping bags with her, she'd thought about it in the shop but she hated how they restricted her legs; making her feel claustrophobic. Plus she knew she'd be bringing everything down in a car so it wasn't as though she had to physically carry her bedding. So instead she'd brought a thin quilt to act as a sheet and make the air bed a bit comfier and her normal quilt as a cover. She hoped they'd be warm enough but it was still early enough in the year that the night time temperatures dropped quite considerably.

As she was starting to drift off she heard Sherlock moving around, picking up his bag and then his footsteps moving off into the distance. The knowledge that he would soon be in the bed with her seemed to wake her up again and she lay in the dark waiting for his return.

It wasn't long before the flap rustled and she heard him deposit his bag on the groundsheet before crawling in and zipping up the entrance; swearing quietly when he kept bumping his head on the roof of the tent . She felt as though she were holding her breath and as he climbed into the bed next to her she shuffled right over to the very edge to give him room and so they weren't touching.

The minutes ticked by with neither of them saying anything or moving much. Molly was so precariously perched there was no way she was going to fall asleep but given the size of the bed she had nowhere to go; she absolutely didn't want to invade his space.

Eventually he gave a huff of annoyance. 'Molly, we're both adults. I think we can sleep more comfortably than this given the space...don't you?'

She turned a little to face him starting to protest her ignorance but he just looped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She wasn't quite in his arms but she could feel his body heat and their legs were touching. 'There...that's better, we should be able to sleep now. Good night Molly.'

Molly felt a little sheepish at having been so prudish, 'night Sherlock.'

It wasn't long before his breathing evened out and she knew he was sleeping which gave her the ability to relax and fall asleep in her turn.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

When Sherlock awoke the following morning the sun was streaming in through the sides of the tent and he and Molly were completely wrapped up in each other. He vaguely remembered waking in the night, feeling extremely cold, and pulling Molly closer so they could share body heat. It had definitely worked but what he hadn't expected was the side effect of waking up with Molly in his arms and how that made him feel.

In all his previous encounters with women he hadn't been able to get away fast enough. The thought of waking up with them in the morning had been an anathema. Even with Janine he made sure he was first up and had never had any desire to linger in her company. Plus he had spent most of their time together making up excuses as to why they wouldn't and shouldn't have sex and she had been just as persistent in trying to seduce him so he definitely hadn't wanted to remain in bed with her even though she had repeatedly insisted on sleeping over.

This felt different though. He had awoken to find he was spooning Molly's much smaller frame, with his chest touching the length of her back, his arm around her waist holding her to him. His chin was resting on the top of her head and it just felt...right. He had no inclination to move or break contact with her even though he knew he should. He knew how she felt about him, how she still felt about him and he didn't want to lead her on in any way.

A small voice in his head asked a quick why not? and he found himself frowning and scratching around for a valid reason. His knee jerk response of because I don't do relationships sounded hollow and lonely in a way it never had before. For the first time he found himself acknowledging that his work was no longer the be all and end all to him. Somehow friendship and affection had crept its way into his life and he didn't want to eradicate it...but did he want to take it further? That he couldn't quite answer to his satisfaction.

Molly stirred and he held his breath wondering if she was about to waken but after a small stretch which had her pressing back against him she fell back into her slumber.

Sherlock found he had his eyes squeezed shut and was biting his lip. That one small movement had set off shockwaves in his body all culminating in his groin and he was painfully aware that he was now hardening and at risk of wanting more. It was that along with his uncertainty that had him moving away from Molly before sitting up and rubbing his hands across his face and through his hair.

As he pushed off the air bed and crouched down to find his wash bag and clothes Molly rolled over and yawned. He glanced back round and found himself smiling at her sleepy and disgruntled expression.

She was the first to speak. 'Hey...morning, what time is it?'

He glanced at his phone. 'Just after half seven. I'm going to have a shower. Go back to sleep if you want.' With that he stood and exited the tent, having to carry his clothes and bag low over his still evident arousal. Looked like he was going to have to suffer a cold shower.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly lay for a moment in the empty tent listening to the sounds of the other campers also starting to awake; chit chat and the clinking of coffee cups seemed to be the main noise along with the sound of birds calling to each other in the background.

She sat up and looked at the tent door which Sherlock had just exited through. She had never spent the night with him before and she still felt like she needed to pinch herself to prove it were real. He'd fallen asleep first and she had lain for a little while looking at his profile in the dark and listening to his breathing hardly able to believe that he were really there. She had wanted so badly to reach out to him, to touch him and maybe try to kiss him but she had stopped herself. She had already more than humiliated herself as far as her feelings for Sherlock Holmes went without adding to the list. She needed to try to find a way of getting over him, of accepting that it would never be more than friendship but even she acknowledged that that wasn't likely to happen when he was sleeping in the same bed as her.

She needed a shower herself but she thought she might as well wait for Sherlock to get back, that way she wouldn't have to lock up her money and phone in the car, so instead she set about putting some water onto boil so that they could have some coffee. She was also looking forward to making sausage and eggs on her little camp stove. From memory they had always tasted better when cooked outdoors. She'd picked up some freshly laid free range eggs and some locally sourced sausages from the village shop and she reckoned she had just enough for Sherlock as well. Her stomach growled at the thought but she wasn't sure if her mouth was watering at the thought of breakfast or Sherlock.

I know, I know that last line was corny but I couldn't resist it. I love cooking and eating outdoors. It really does always taste so much nicer. Maybe I need to resurrect my own tent though I suspect it will be a bit moth-riddled.

But enough of me, what do you guys think?