A/N:Thank you AussieMaelstrom for being beta!

"Molly, dear. Are you up? I heard some noise."

Click. Clack.

Her heels were inching closer. Any second Mrs Hudson would be entering the sitting room, as her steps were becoming louder and more pronounced. She was probably wearing a shoe of soft brown leather with a comfortable heel to support her hip, like always.

Tip. Tap.

The sound of the landlady's shoes was suddenly muffled, obviously treading on the carpet now, moving closer and closer to the scene of the crime. Her brother, what would he say if he'd walked in on something like this? He'd swear first probably, burst out in laughter a second later, until he'd just shake his head at her in disappointment.

Molly wished she could do something, as crying out wasn't an option - Sherlock was more or less crushing her with his weight, constricting her chest, making her voice far too breathy and moan-like which would be certainly misunderstood when connected to the nudity.

She didn't know whom she'd rather face – him or Mrs Hudson, but apparently facing both was the outcome of this particular event. The man's eyes were blinking slowly awake and he was stirring on top of her, like his other body-parts that were certainly still functioning.

A nip into the emergency room with his bits – broken – wasn't something she would like to go through, but no he was still a whole male. It was amazing that it was still up, jutting between her slightly parted legs, almost making her quiver. That was reason enough not to shove him off her right now, besides the fact that she didn't want to let Mrs Hudson see her naked.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, just horror and nudity.

"Molly? Oh, must be-," and that's the second she sees someone's shoes, just like she remembered them. It doesn't take a clever person to see it's Mrs Hudson, but she doesn't expect the tiny burst of laughter, or the wide eyes of the landlady looking at them on the kitchen floor with mild curiosity, like they're some peculiar piece of art.

"Oh dear…an accident was it?"

It was, yet, she did not expect that. Mrs Hudson bending down either with a slight 'oomph' was far from her ideas of the outcome, the woman peering at with her with a great deal of sympathy.

"I've been through one of those – always a bit of a nasty shock-," she said in her cheery air.

Apparently, the most obvious option wasn't even an option to the older woman. Molly almost felt like toppling Sherlock away from her to show the obvious erection pressing against her and just to say – "look, it's alive," but thought better of it when she felt his breath against her face, a proper release for once. And that's of course when Sherlock chose to wake up (his cock jerking against her thigh prominently, like a queer alarm bell), his eyes boring down on hers, while she fixed her gaze on Mrs Hudson, unwilling to look at him at the moment (considering the moment, it only felt natural to be somewhat decent).

"Need any help getting up dears?" said the woman, while Molly only gaped in return, not wanting assistance in this.

Panic.

That's what she expected.

Mrs Hudson walking in and then running out.

Maybe those odd jokes of Mary about Mrs Hudson's past being dubious had some truth in it, but she still wouldn't believe it – until now that was.

Sherlock did not move an inch and she was grateful, even if she rather struggled to breathe against his weight. He was heavier than he looked, though he'd certainly knocked some air out of her when they'd fallen on the kitchen floor to begin with, neither were the floors particularly pleasant to rest on.

"Mrs Hudson?" his voice was gravelly. "Now is not the time or the-,"

At least he could speak unlike her.

She could feel his voice through his body, the vibrations prominent, as he was clearly almost using all of his vocal cords to the aggravation of her ears.

" – It's quite normal dear – don't you worry – I'll get help-," Mrs Hudson said standing up, her knees creaking, as she was clearly not listening to a word he was saying.

"Help?" he said looking alarmed.

"No!" she managed to squeeze out in protest.

"Why not?" said Mrs Hudson stilling in her journey to find someone to rescue them.

"We're naked-," she said.

"We're trying to have sex-," said Sherlock.

And she felt her mouth could not get any wider, her head whipping around to look up at him.

"What?" she said in her small croaky voice.

He merrily raised a brow in return.

The landlady blanched, soon wiping at invisible dust on her skirt like she'd gotten fragments of 'sex' on it. "Oh – oh – you are? Well – that was a bit fuzzy, dear."

She really hoped the word fuzzy wasn't in reference to something, though Mrs Hudson couldn't exactly see all ofher. But it didn't stop her blush from spreading, as Sherlock's eyes flittered to her briefly like he'd felt the heat emanating from her at the older woman's words.

"Unclear?" said Sherlock sounding baffled. "How is me naked on top of her unclear?"

His attempt at getting Mrs Hudson out wasn't exactly working, though she wasn't wrong about it being an accident Molly certainly didn't want her to contact anyone to assist them at the moment. She could only begin to imagine the papers covered with stories about the Scotland Yard being called in to assist two naked adults get off each other.

Mrs Hudson might not read the blatantly obvious subtext, but any normal person would.

The landlady gave a sheepish smile. "You're doing it a bit wrong dear, probably not what you're used to-," she said with an affectionate tinge that made Molly's stomach twist into knots.

She wished she had drowned in the bath.

"MRS HUDSON!" he shouted at an alarming volume causing Molly to flinch.

"Oh, right…I'll leave you to it dears!" she said cheerily waving them off, while Molly let the back of her head thud onto the floor, not even remotely bothered by the smarting ache on the back of her head.

She almost welcomed the pain instead of the embarrassment.

The whole neighbourhood was bound to know soon considering Mrs Hudson's propensity to gossip.

The whole of London would know.

Her brother would know, probably.

It would be just like him to rub it in her face, telling her off for having indulged in an otherwise innocent act of hygiene in the first place.

Her mind wandered for the briefest of seconds, until it returned because it really had to for neither had actually moved. Their bodies were still clinging to each other naked, mild perspiration acting against them, their body's natural odours blending together and it did smell rather – "Umm – could you get off?" she said wanting to breathe something else than his deep, almost salacious musk.

If he didn't move her thoughts would never end, and she could hardly see why he needed to be on top of her any longer. This was the first and last time she would have him naked on top of her – ever – by the look of complete consternation set in his face, before he ungracefully lifted off her. They stuck a bit together at his dislodging himself, a fact she didn't wish to reflect on too long before she scrambled onto her knees grabbing her misplaced towel.

She didn't know if his eyes were on her, but right now she didn't have time to feel awkward about the nudity. They'd gone past that, and Sherlock didn't care.

He was famed for walking about naked, not considering anyone's feelings whatsoever. But that was because skin was skin and she was just another body, another vessel. Just like the chilled samples she'd given to him, all of them stored away in his fridge.

Getting to her feet with the towel tucked around her she lifted her eyes to him and saw exactly what she thought – there he was – no towel – no tea cosy – no item to prevent her eyes from being glued to his magnificent body. Bloody hell.

And of course the glaringly obvious other thing that she'd assumed would be vanquished, at least, in the presence of Mrs Hudson (she wrinkled her nose slightly at that).

"You're still naked," she said in one breath, her eyes up at the ceiling and her lips pursed in what could be seen as a thoughtful expression. Molly did not feel like she resembled cool or casual, quite the opposite.

"Yes," he drawled and she caught his stare.

"Oh," she said abruptly startled by the utter serious expression on his face, which clearly spoke volumes of his feelings, but it was rather hard to take him seriously.

The nudity ruined that.

He looked absolutely grim, while she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, trying to find something she could say without being a complete silent nutter in his kitchen.

"You sleepwalked!" she blurted out red-cheeked and mortified. Not exactly the words that would help her out of her current dilemma, but they were the truth. And the truth was clearly what they needed. Her lying wouldn't improve the situation.

His eyebrow had risen quite a lot, underlying how much he didn't believe her. "On top of you?" he said slowly, like she was hard of hearing.

"Into the bath."

"Into the bath?"

"Bathroom that is. Not into the bath. Because I was in the bath," she said giggling nervously, averting her gaze by staring at the wall this time, as her eyes kept drifting along his body, which he probably noticed.

He noticed everything after all, though he didn't seem to notice his…'probably shouldn't mention that' she thought.

"Ah, and how exactly did thistake place?"

"It was an accident really, it's actually quite funny-," she stopped when she saw his face – "Can't we talk about this when we've both got clothes on?"

"Molly, you've already seen everything, obviously," she didn't like that smirk on his face – "I don't see the point of delaying this any further than necessary."

"Okay?" she said frowning, hands perched on her hips. "Well, it's not my fault you sleepwalked."

"Then tell me the truth," he said blankly.

She stared at him – what? How could he even think she was lying about this? How could she lie about this at all?

This was beyond her imagination.

"Tell you the truth? But I've told you – but – what - never mind – just please – you might not notice-," and then she let her eyes stay rather fixedly on the point where she shouldn't, following the trail towards his –

He blinked.

Directing her eyes to his face she said. "I'm not the one who came into the bathroom…and followed me…"

He gaped slightly, a crinkle between his brows. "I followed…you?"

Nodding she clasped a hand in front of her face, shielding him from her view. "So please – just – you know – cover yourself – before we talk any more…"

"Sherlock! What's going on? Mrs Hudson-," a voice called out, the voice of his ex-flatmate John who she saw through the crack of her fingers - brilliant – just what they needed.

"Not now John!" snapped Sherlock, his voice a bit rougher than previously, though he had at least got his most protruding body-part shielded with his – microscope.

Of all the objects he could have chosen, of all the soft items probably available in the kitchen – he proceeded to take the heaviest, the trickiest of items and place it right in front of his cock.

He might as well have lit it up.

"Right…that explains the laughing…" said John shaking his head slightly. "You know, I told you to listen to me-,"

Sherlock sent him the most narrowed of stares, while she stared bewildered at the pair of them, as John continued seemingly not bothered by the nudity before him – "since this really isn't the right approach."

Approach? The look of irritation flickered across Sherlock's face.

"Thank you, John," and his friend seems to catch on rather slowly.

"Oh, oh – wow – okay – so you weren't?"

"No!"

Approach? Approaching what, exactly? And then it clicked into place, from the way he avoided her stare, to the way John quietly gestured to the exit leaving them once more on their own – 'approach her'.

She was being approached!

She blinked rather heavily at him, colour appearing in her cheeks. "Does he mean-?"

It's a small whisper, frankly it's barely audible, but she hears it, and reads the word upon his lips. "Yes."

Oh.

"So you…"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Awkward.

Well, it's rather difficult not being awkward. After all, he's got a microscope covering his bits and she's still in her towel, while the revelation just looms overhead, bearing down on the situation.

"But – you didn't pretend to-,"

He looks almost offended. "No," he scoffed, before he snorted. "Though I couldn't have planned it better, I suppose."

"Oh, right…"

She would feel better if he did something, perhaps got dressed, or just made a single brief movement. "Why the microscope?" she asked instead, mentally slapping herself.

"It's a large object," he said, proceeding to clear his throat. "And the nearest."

"And the most expensive," she pointed out. "You hardly want to drop that I think."

"I would think that what it does cover is perhaps considered more valuable and rather difficult to get hold of."

"Depends on which shop you go to-," she said, slapping a hand over her mouth, as she was both horrified and filled with glee upon seeing his dumbstruck face.

"Of course."

She bites her lip. "Did you really just compliment your penis?"

"Hardly," and he grinned.

"I didn't think you could get more conceited."

"I…can…"

"Well – I'm-,"

"Perfectly fine," he said giving a short curt nod, and she stares, before looking down at her towelled shape.

"But you've-,"

"Got an imagination, Molly – the mind does drift when you're around-,"

"Is this why you've barely been in the flat?" she said gaping.

His eyes are above her head, "Yes."

"I'm distracting?"

"Yes."

"But-,"

"You've just been pressed against me naked and rather wet, so I wouldn't go further with the line of enquiry if you don't-,"

"Don't what?"

" – Intend to do…anything."

"I'm supposed to do something?"

"Clothes are an option."

She laughed. "Yes, I know, or well… I saw." The cogs wheeling about in a frustratingly slow pace, as she stared at him in clear astonishment. "Wait, what?"

He furrowed his brows. "If you want…we…-"

We. There was a 'we' in discussion.

"So you-,"

"Yes," he said not even letting her finish, as his eyes were no longer fixed on a faraway object, but actually on her face.

"Oh."

"I thought that was fairly obvious," he said, an almost boyish grin on his face, his eyes briefly flickering down where the microscope was still blocking his –

"You're still-,"

He visibly swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing upwards. "Yes," he said in a rougher than usual voice, causing her to take a deep breath.

"Wow," she said.

She wasn't supposed to have said that out loud.

"Is that a good thing?"

She blinked. "You haven't-,"

"No," he said rather slowly.

"At all?"

"Well – once."

"Oh, that's nice."

"It was hardly what you would equate as nice."

Having a discussion about his past sexual exploits – or exploit – naked in his kitchen wasn't how she thought her quiet bath would turn out really. She wasn't the completely naked one, so she shouldn't be embarrassed, but she couldn't help feel flummoxed.

This was a story she could tell no one, but she knew everyone would end up knowing anyway. John Watson wasn't exactly subtle in any of his doings, writing about almost everything on his blog, especially if it involved Sherlock in any way, and this situation certainly fell under that category. What kind of situation would the blog title even be... "Consulting detective disrobed?"

It sounded like one of the lines the newspapers threw out constantly.

"Molly?" he said making her blink back into focus.

"Umm…would you like to have a bath with me?" she said looking up from the floor, meeting his gaze full on.

THE END