A.N. - A response to the Sturdy/ Studly debate challenge in Mrs Hudson's Kitchen. I was given the CHALLENGE of Donlock. A pairing I was uncomfortable with at the beginning, but now may HAVE to expand upon. And, as usual, I got a bit distracted and deviated from the original theme of my story. I refuse to apologise, however...

Usual disclaimers apply. No one and nothing is mine, dagnamit.

"Sturdy, studly, whichever, whatever." Holmes shrugged.

"They have two completely different meanings." John protested. "For example, I would object to being described as one, but be quite flattered by the other."

Sally Donovan paused in her skim-reading of the intelligence dossier in front of her and looked appraisingly at John for a moment, trying to decide which term he preferred. Being a man, he probably preferred studly. Though, unfortunately, he was more likely to fall into the sturdy category.

"Sergeant Donovan, when you've finished eyeing up Dr. Watson, would you be so kind as to share the information you are clasping onto so tightly?"

Sally narrowed her eyes at Holmes. She was damn well going to finish reading it before he got his greedy hands on it. It was her job after all, and just his twisted hobby.

"You would become more efficient at that chosen occupation if you learned to absorb information a little faster. Or a lot."

That would not even be dignified with a response. If she spoke he would only cut her straight back down and make her look even more ridiculous in front of John and Lestrade. She looked back down to the map in her hands, twisting it to the side to get her bearings. She hoped there would be no comments about women and map reading, though that would be a little low and sexist, even for Holmes. He was more likely to pick up on her silent mumblings.

"Yes, the moving of your lips while you read is more distracting."

"Oh for God's sake, stop doing that!" She finally snapped.

He neglected to respond verbally, just raised an imperious eyebrow.

"Stop participating in my mental conversations. It freaks me out."

He smiled then, a small quirk of his lips, "Well, if you must think so loud..."

"Will you ever give up making me look stupid?"

"You appear to manage it often enough without any assistance from me."

She wasn't taking that. So she approached, holding out the open folder as if in offering, but when he reached for it, she took great pleasure in snapping it closed in his face before whipping around and stalking from the room towards her own work space. She heard John snort as she passed and when she glared at him he sent her a conspiratorial wink. The incredulous look on Holmes' face at the treachery was one she thought she would actually have paid for.

Her furious face must be something to behold, because the fellow occupants of the corridor moved from her path like the great parting of the sea. The footsteps behind her were muted by the industrial grade grey carpet, but no less ominous. Sally knew exactly who they belonged to and took care not to change her speed and give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead she just swerved, altering her direction and slipping into the disabled toilet. Before she could drop the latch handle down, the door was yanked open. Sally backed up as her face was smothered by the dark wool of a coat as a body swept into the small room with her and slammed the door.

Sherlock Holmes shot the lock closed and took a step forward, crowding her back into the mirror.

"You're a bastard." She spat.

"And you're a fucking bitch."

"Pfft. You love it."

"Yes." And he dipped his head and crashed his mouth to hers.

The folder dropped to the floor, the thick bound cover cracking against a pipe on the way down. But neither of them cared. Sally's now free hands found their way into the curls at the back of his head and wove into them. And she bloody well kissed him back.

They were frantic and desperate, and he growled into her mouth as she tugged at his hair. The mirror was cold through the back of her shirt, at a confusing contrast with his heat pressing against the front of her. He palmed her round buttocks (she was damned proud of those, they didn't come naturally), and ground their hips together. Sally felt a physical thrill at the bulge he was pressing into her lower abdomen, knowing that she and she alone had put that there. The hands slipped even lower still, insistent at the top of her thighs, encouraging her to climb him. And climb she did.

Holmes wasn't sturdy. That description definitely fit someone more like John; thickly built and dependable. The hips her legs were wrapped around were strong and determined, but no, not sturdy. And as for studly, well that was more along the lines of Lestrade – a prime piece of manflesh, even she had to admit. The kind that appealed to women in general, a sexy fertile man to make babies with.

When it came down to sturdy vs studly, apparently her choice was neither. Because what really got her blood going was this man, willowy and wispy, who sometimes appeared as though a strong gust of wind could send him flying, but was in fact stronger than anyone else she had ever met, just in a different way.

He could have her right now, up against this mirror with her skirt pushed up around her waist and her knickers flung in the far corner of the cubicle. She would have no qualms begging him, pleading for more, faster, harder. He liked that. She couldn't care less that he was an arrogant rude git – he had what she needed and he could give it to her. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

"You. Are. Glorious." He bit out against her neck, and his delicious full lips sucked hard enough to leave a mark.

His mouth was making its way down, sneaking between the open buttons at the top of her shirt. His tongue was hot and wet as it lathed luxuriously into her cleavage. The contact sent heat flowing between her legs and if they didn't stop this now, there would be no stopping.

"Work." It was the one word she knew would stop him in his tracks. She hated to stop him in these specific tracks, but they had a job to do. And unfortunately the job was more important than a quick shag in the toilets.

It was a success. He whipped his head back, looking deliciously dishevelled, all flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The smirk returned and he lowered her gently until her feet touched the floor. The click of her heels onto the rubber surface sounded very final.

Holmes bent at the waist to scoop the dropped file from by their feet, discreetly adjusting himself in his underwear at the same time. Sally was less subtle, refastening a loosened button and adjusting a slightly oversensitive breast in a silk cup. She flicked her hair back into place and reached up to do the same for him. He smiled gratefully and pressed a sneaky gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"I'll see you later," he murmured, flicking up his coat collar.

"When the case is closed," she confirmed.

The hard facade slipped back over his face, the heat blinking out in his eyes. He nodded formally, as if nothing had happened at all, "Donovan."

"Holmes," she replied.

He didn't look at her again before he left. Sally had to steel herself against the uncomfortable coil of disappointment in her belly. There was no other way. This was the way. The only way. She leant her shaking hands against the ceramic brim of the sink basin and took a deep breath. Later. He would be back to her later. Not for long, but maybe for just long enough.

Would it ever be long enough?