Thank you for following through with this one! Your patience, and praise, and good critique has been encouraging - making it possible for me to finish it to the very end. I hope I don't disappoint, and I hope you will follow my other un-finished story Mother Knows Best. Whether or not you do so, thank you, for your follow, review or favourite. It has been a pleasure!

20: At Last

What does Sherlock Holmes taste like?

Good question.

I'd like to go into vexing detail, as I don't even tell Julie this. I don't think she'd want to know really. When I sit contemplating it, I often end up chewing the end of my pen, and of course he shows up at this. He takes note of my dilated pupils and tries to touch my wrist.

You can never have an argument with the man, especially not a heated argument with him. He will have an once-over with you more or less. There he'll stand pointing out the flaws in your speech and your bated breath. Strictly speaking I do enjoy it when he gets a bit mad. Just the normal amount you know, I'm sure everyone else feels like this. If not, I'm not one for caring.

Yes, err - what does he taste like? Right.

He tastes like adrenaline. I know you can't taste adrenaline, but it is sort of the sensation of blood rushing to the head, more or less. He also tastes like reading books on a rainy day, and a mixture of sweet and tart really. Not literarily, but let me indulge in the fantasy.

His smell is rather like calculative masculinity – if there's any sort of thing. There probably isn't, as there only is one of him. He has many long words strung together describing me, which he takes turns in whispering at utterly inappropriate moments. I think it is mainly because he loves to see me flush under his gaze – the bastard.

Not that I don't enjoy the feeling of his long fingers sliding slowly up my thigh, while whispering what he'll do to me the moment John Watson leaves the room.

Our first proper kiss however, throwing the rushed fervent one aside, which came from a mixture of desire, longing, all wrapped into one – was different, slow, calculative, and even a bit unsure.

I've never been kissed like that before, not so proper. At least not in a very long time – it felt like so. The sort of kiss that makes one gasp for air, with flushed cheeks, and which makes one even feel a bit swoony.

Being held by him simultaneously was the oddest of sensations. The most erotic thing I had ever seen him grasping was the microscope at Bart's, but now his hands were firmly gripping my waist. All a while he tentatively bit on my upper lip, sliding his tongue on my lip, before gently slipping into my mouth – hands pulling me towards him, pressing us firmly against each other.

It was the oddest mixture of sensations and feelings. At one hand, I was elated, because I had been imagining this for ages, more or less – on the other hand I was terrified. He gently separates from me; I'm more or less drawing breath, heart pounding into my ears, staring at him in wide-eyed surprise.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, and there's a sense of unfamiliarity with this, with the voice that comes out from his mouth – almost nervous even. The sheer idea that Sherlock Holmes could be nervous was beyond me really.

Of course nothing's wrong – I'm kissing you, you're kissing me - we're kissing.

"I – it's just – this is really if I can say, a bit – overwhelming," I say taking a step simultaneously away from him. I can see his expression turn to smug at that, at which I roll my eyes.

"Don't give me that, don't even attempt to give me that. I'm not – honestly – it's just – if we continue – I won't – there won't be any going back."

"Going back?" he repeats as if this is a foreign subject. Him even mouthing the words is odd.

"There's no turning back after this. I don't really know – of course we – you know – but – you know – do you – have you?" I say in what seems to be the quickest utterance of words, similar to his deductions.

Except it's not even words, its just half-used slurs - my tongue just sort of slobs in my mouth, as if petrified.

"Have I had sex?" he quips coolly.

I gape hurriedly, before shutting my mouth sheepishly, feeling if even remotely possible more flushed.

"Yes," I say rather slowly with a release of breath.

At this he takes a step towards me, slips his hand around my wrist, gingerly stroking the inside with his thumb – a brow playfully arched – "Guess," he murmurs, eyes straying from my eyes to my lips, as he strokes with his other free hand on my bottom lip, before his hand caresses my rather hot cheek.

I stare at him rather alarmed, "If we do this, things will change."

"I had expected as much," he says, leaning towards my mouth, but I slip a finger timidly resting on his lips.

He just looks at me with muted amusement, his one hand slipping around the wrist of my hand on his face, but he isn't pulling my hand away.

"There really won't be any going back," I say looking furtively downwards, before bringing my eyes up, as he holds my wrist gently, now at a distance from his face.

"Exactly what entails not going back?" he asks.

I smile at him at this, despite myself, before carefully saying "I won't be at your beck and call anymore. Our relationship will be different. Can you cope with that?"

He furrows his brows at this, before he looks at me seriously, "I had never expected you to be my pathologist in the bedroom - no."

I laugh at this biting my lip, "I'm not yours, no. You are not mine to keep either."

"I always thought people were adamant on belonging."

"One can belong, without owning – wait – you said bedroom," I say, blinking rather furiously in the realization of his words. "They'll win the wager," I say in mock-exasperation.

"There are other things one can do, that does not possibly entail either ownership or sex," he says breathing out words, which causes small shivers in my spine, as he puts a finger under my chin lifting my face up, but not to kiss me.

He just breathes, as I stand mouth open in wonder. "I don't want to own you Molly. Possession has never been a want for my sake. I do want you. That I do, but if it is in many months' time – or tonight – I will wait patiently for you to be ready," he says, eyes dropping a little bit on my scars.

Oh, of course.

"You'll wait for me to be ready?" I say looking at him in half-amused disbelief.

A crease appears in his forehead, "I never said I wasn't ready," I say, causing his mouth to form the perfect "Oh," as I grin at him.

He smirks, before his lips gently brush down on mine. "If you want, we can, you know - wait," I say breaking away from him, before he impatiently presses his mouth more firmer upon mine smiling, as I squeak in amusement.

His hands are once again on my waist, as he kisses me tenderly, before moving to my neck applying kisses on my collarbone. He swiftly picks me up to my startled expression, as we enter the bedroom - door kicked carelessly aside.

I've still got my nightgown on, and when he slowly lays me down on top of the bed – blue eyes boring into mine - I start to tug on the end – "Don't," he just whispers, a serious expression on his face. He hovers over me, applying kisses on the corner of my mouth, my neck, and one on my hand.

Calmly, slowly - every single gesture is being done, while I rather impatiently start pulling him towards me unbuttoning his shirt.

He grins at my nerve, a smile I love seeing more or less, as he kisses me on the mouth again. A deeper, fuller kiss, which distracts me from the fierce unbuttoning I tried at.

He just keeps teasing me, kissing, nibbling, and biting at my skin. He goes slowly, I flush under the slowness, as I get more frustrated. In the end I grab him by his lapels, bring him into another kiss, before managing to overpower him. He just smirks at me.

I'm on top, sitting right on top of his arousal, feeling him blatantly through the fabric of his trousers. I look at him cheekily, as I bring his hand between my thighs, letting him rest on my – lack of.

He obviously didn't deduce that, as there's an intake of breath. I just raise my brows at him amused, evident that he is no longer entirely as willing to keep it slow, but I remove his hand.

He looks at me in curiosity, as I slowly start undressing him, revealing his well-sculpted torso. He raises himself up in the bed, pulling me more on top of him, kissing me much more hurriedly, as he overthrows me on bed causing me to giggle.

The laughter dies out of my eyes the moment I see his face. A hand of mine reaching out touching his cheek, and before I know it – he's absolutely naked in front of me. My eyes flash hurriedly downwards; he catches this, a ghost of a smile on his face.

He claims my mouth in yet another kiss - our bodies entirely entangled. His hands smoothly caressing my skin, as he slowly slips off the nightgown – once its off – his mouth lands on a nipple, another hand slips on my breast caressing me slowly, before kissing himself downwards.

I see his need, but he ends up kissing me between my thighs. He licks gently, as I writhe underneath him – nails digging into his shoulders, while he pushes in further licking - slipping fingers in gently.

I moan, causing him to suddenly press more firmly, while I cling to the mattress. He moves up kissing me, causing me to cross my legs behind his back.

He looks at me for a moment, breathing rather hoarsely, as I kiss his lips as an answer to his obvious question. His arousal pressing against me, I kiss him on his eyelids, and take an intake of breath due to anticipation.

He pushes through, I gasp at the sensation of him. It takes him a lot of effort it seems to not go too speedily, as I moan loudly clinging to him. The pace quickens, as he moans gruffly into my ear.

Kissing my neck, lips, between every push and pull, while I trash underneath him – his warmth clinging onto my skin. His hand holds onto the headboard, as the bed bangs onto the wall nosily amidst our moans.

The sensation that hits my body is unearthly, the feeling spreading all-over my body, as I yell. He moans with me, sweat on his brow, as we breathe hoarsely on each other – entirely spent.

He leans his face on my chest, lying between my breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth, teasingly licking it, before kissing me deeply on the mouth.

There's a flush crawling on my heated skin, as he pulls himself away, landing on his back breathing unevenly, before he grabs the duvet jerking it over our bodies. He stretches his arm to the side allowing me to rest on his chest, my heart still pounding soundly, as I lay on him.

"You've done that before, then?" I ask with a hoarse laugh, looking up at him, as he strokes some hair away from my face.

His expression that I used to describe as "unreadable" is so obvious now - that it almost hurt looking at him.

"Once, or twice," he says attentively swallowing rather heavily. "You're not jealous," he adds in my silence, as I pinch his nipple, causing him to raise a brow at me in surprise.

"It must have been the fact that you were ginger. Really, it had to be," I say thinking rather out loud.

"Sorry?" he says kissing my neck, while I say, "You've never done that before," causing him to halt in the kissing looking at me with those eyes of his curiously narrowed.

"You deduced that – how?" he asks, brows creased.

I smile rather knowingly, "Your sense of wonder," I say.

"That could easily be-," he starts caressing one of my breasts rather lazily, "You are the first I've enjoyed the act with," he admits. "I've never really finished."

"Oh," I say in awe. "Well, at least I won the wager, now. You better leave my bed. I'm waiting for your brother so he can deliver the sum of money," I add mock-seriously.

Sherlock looks at me startled for a moment, before snorting, "Very amusing Doctor Hooper."

"I thought I wasn't a pathologist in the bedroom," I say giggling, as he nibbles on my neck.

"We will have to do more of that to be entirely certain," he murmurs, mouth catching mine into another kiss, before my arms slip around his neck. Now it was definitively going to be his turn.

How is Sherlock Holmes in a relationship?

He has a tendency to walk around naked, as he's rather careless with just that – not bothering putting on a sheet. Once I came home and he was sat only reading a newspaper. It's odd working in the lab; he appears as usual with John lagging behind him. He brusquely comes out with a long narrative of his intensions, intending to pass me to fetch something – grabbing my arse, before striding off.

I never really hear much from him during cases, he does send the offbeat text, which says often one-word "Alive". He keeps me on my toes; I never get bored – even the most mundane things like eating breakfast become interesting. I often end up siding with John during arguments; he gets quite irritated by this, and starts accusing me for choosing sides – as I am supposed to be his girlfriend.

That was the first time he used the term, which neither of us had really mentioned, causing John to grin. I end up blaming him of trying to sway me with his choice of words. In the end he starts using it frequently, tossing it out casually in sentences – if we're out, or someone looks into my direction. I roll my eyes at him, reluctantly calling him my boyfriend in the end.

Then one night it happened, I'm at the morgue – he enters, hair a mess, while looking at me as if I've drawn my last breath. He walks over, hand placed softly on my cheek. He looks at me quite sincerely – blue eyes flickering over mine – he just smiles – gives me a kiss, before leaving. I remember standing there in flushed confusion, until I entirely understood what he wordlessly said.

If I do?

Yes, yes – of course.

It took me quite some time, before I finally recalled asking Mycroft Holmes who won the wager, as the others had all disgruntled informed me that none of them won.

He looked at me with a great deal of mirth, perching his lips, before saying rather ceremoniously, "Apparently it was a computer-technician going by the name Benedict Lowe," raising his brows at me suggestively, before walking off.