Dear reader, thank you so much if you have stuck with this story, despite how slowly it gets updated. I've been planning this chapter for ages but just get so little time to write! If you have any comments, please please review! It means the world to me to get comments! Thanks and enjoy!

There was a distinct frostiness in the air that evening in 221b as John and Sherlock sat together. John had spent most of the evening working on his laptop, pointedly ignoring Sherlock and responding with minimal effort. Sherlock in turn was irritable and annoyed at John's coolness towards him, feeling that the whole reaction was entirely unjustified. Sherlock sat in front of the television, paying no attention to the programme, brooding over the events of the morning. He continually glanced towards John, hoping to catch his eye, but so far this had proved unsuccessful.

"So how was he?" Sherlock asked finally, the continued silence starting to bore him.

"How was who?" Replied John in a disinterested tone, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.

"You know who", said Sherlock sullenly.

John stopped typing and looked towards the sulking figure on the sofa.

"Sherlock, I really do not know who you are talking about", John said in a maddeningly patient tone.

"Mycroft, of course!" Exclaimed Sherlock, "I know that's who you were meeting this afternoon, it's so obvious".

"Hmm, is it indeed?" John responded in a cynical tone.

"It certainly is", Sherlock continued, his voice starting to rise now that he finally had John's attention, "for a start…."

"Spare me, Sherlock", John interrupted, raising both his hands, "I think we've all had enough of your displays of intellect for one day, don't you?"

Sherlock glared, but did as he was told and stopped.

"I really don't understand why you are so angry with me", Sherlock said irritably.

"I'm not angry", said John calmly, returning to the laptop.

"Yes you are!" Insisted Sherlock, "you've barely spoken to me for hours and haven't said a single word about meeting Mycroft. Tell me what I've done wrong!"

John hesitated, but then turned away fully from his computer in order to face Sherlock. It was easy to forget sometimes that Sherlock needed reminders about the feelings and emotions of other people.

"Ok, Sherlock", John said slowly, "I'm not angry with you, but I do think you need to have a think about the way you treated Mycroft today. Not only did you complete disrespect his privacy, which you have no right to do, you made that ridiculous speech in front of everybody and completely humiliated him. It's fairly obvious to everyone that Mycroft isn't exactly a very open person, so for you to do that to him was extremely unfair".

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but John had not finished.

"I've no idea whether there is any truth in your suspicions, but that's not the point. If Mycroft chooses to tell us about his private life, then that is his decision. It's certainly not your place to announce it to everybody".

John had said his piece but Sherlock did not answer immediately. He contemplated in silence for a few moments, his face thoughtful.

"Perhaps you're right," he said finally, nodding slowly as if realisation was beginning to dawn, "I suppose that wasn't very fair of me".

"Do my ears deceive me, or is Sherlock Holmes actually admitting that he is in the wrong?" Said John incredulously.

Sherlock gave a small, wry smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe I should have re-thought that one".

John smiled in agreement, and this time it was a broad and genuine one. The tense atmosphere had been broken, and John and Sherlock were friends again.

"So if I apologise to Mycroft, will that make you happy?" Enquired Sherlock.

"Well I'd prefer it if you did it my Mycroft's sake rather than mine", said John, "but I certainly think it's a good idea".

Sherlock nodded decisively.

"I'll go and see him first thing tomorrow morning".

Mycroft had still not got used to the feeling of waking up and finding somebody lying beside him. He experienced that pleasant surprise once again when he awoke to find Molly's warm, naked body lying against him. She was still asleep and he could feel her body gently rising and falling as she breathed. Mycroft wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close, her tangled hair against his face making his cheek tickle.

When they had entered the house the previous night, they had grabbed each other in a wordless clinch of desperation, tearing at each other's clothes before falling and having sex on Mycroft's sitting room sofa. When they had finished and calmed themselves down, they both had a glass of wine before retiring to the bedroom where they had sex again, but this time slowly and passionately, making the pleasure last as long as possible. Molly had sat on top of Mycroft this time and he had gripped her tight and run his hands all over her as she had moved and driven them both to a glorious climax. They had fallen asleep shortly afterwards, in a hot sweaty heap of exhausted limbs and aching bodies.

As Mycroft replayed the events of the night, he felt his arousal rising yet again. He allowed his hand to gently cup her breast and kissed her earlobe, willing her to wake up. Although still half asleep, Molly shifted onto her back, one of her hands raising to stroke the back of Mycroft's neck, which she gently pushed to encourage him to continue. Mycroft moved so that he was now on top of Molly; he leaned down to kiss her, noting the pretty pink flush in her cheeks. She kissed him back and pulled him closer, and before Mycroft knew what was happening he was inside her again, the glorious feeling of their bodies united running through his veins. Molly moaned gently as he moved and Mycroft closed his eyes, wanting to savour every second of the exquisite pleasure. Again and again Mycroft thrust into her before they reached the peak, their shuddering orgasms reducing them once again to quivering exhaustion.

Mycroft fell back onto his pillow, his breathing now reduced to gasps as Molly watched him, grinning happily at the sight of his enjoyment.

"Good morning", she said innocently, dissolving into laughter when he could only smile back.

"I could get used to waking up like this", she continued, "much more enjoyable than my alarm clock!"

"Well at this rate, I think my body might be at risk of collapsing with exhaustion", Mycroft said, finally able to speak again, "thanks to you I have not had a proper night of sleep for weeks".

"And you love it!" Molly said playfully, giving his arm a gentle shove as she laughed.

Mycroft was about to respond before his attention was drawn to a noise downstairs. Molly had clearly noticed it as well as they both lay still and paused when the noise occurred. It sounded as if it was coming from the front door.

"Probably the post", Molly said with a shrug.

Seconds later, Mycroft's curiosity turned to alarm when the distinct sound of a key in the lock rattled through the quiet house. Molly's relaxed smile disappeared abruptly when they both realised that not only had a key been turned, but the door was creaking open. Mycroft knew only one other person besides himself who had a key to the house.

"Mycroft?" Called out the familiar voice of Sherlock. In that moment, both Molly and Mycroft had never been less happy to hear Sherlock's voice.

"Jesus Christ", Mycroft muttered, leaping out of the bed and grabbing his robe in a split second. He hastily tied the belt, turning to Molly who was now sitting bolt upright, the duvet pulled tightly to her chest, a look of fear in her wide eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll get rid of him", whispered Mycroft, "he won't come up here".

Molly only had time to nod before Mycroft stepped briskly to the bedroom door and left the room. He closed it carefully behind him and took a deep breath. Just stay calm, he told himself, as he hastily made his way down the stairs.

Mycroft found Sherlock in the kitchen where he reacted with surprise at the sudden appearance of his brother. Sherlock cast a curious look down at Mycroft before staring at him quizzically.

"Why are you not dressed yet?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft ignored the question.

"You know, Sherlock, most people knock at the front door when visiting somebody at home. Was there any need to use your key when I was still in bed?"

"I did not think you'd be in", replied Sherlock, his eyes still wandering over Mycroft in a questioning fashion that was becoming extremely irritating, "I thought you would have been at work by now".

"Then why bother come at all?" Snapped Mycroft, starting to feel impatient.

Sherlock shrugged. "Thought it was worth trying".

There was silence as both brothers stared at each other,one in curiosity and the other in annoyance.

"Well come on then, what is it you want?" Asked Mycroft.

In his curious state, Sherlock had almost forgotten why he had come in the first place.

"Of of course!" Sherlock exclaimed, before his face became serious again. He looked down at the floor and fiddled awkwardly with the pocket of his coat. He was not used to being sincere with Mycroft.

"I just came to apologise", Sherlock mumbled, "about yesterday. I shouldn't have embarrassed you at the mortuary, I wasn't thinking properly. Sorry".

Mycroft's eyebrows raised high into a look of incredulity.

"Well that was unexpected", he said coolly, but privately feeling secretly quite pleased to be on the receiving of sherlock's words, "consider the apology accepted".

Sherlock gave a slight nod, before growing once again at Mycroft's robe.

"You never did answer my question. Why are you not dressed?"

Mycroft stepped forward and laid his hand on Sherlock's elbow and began to lead him gently but firmly towards the door.

"I think your curiosity has caused enough trouble recently, dear brother", Mycroft said crisply, "now you must excuse me whilst I get ready to leave for the office. I have a meeting scheduled soon that I cannot miss".

It was then that they both heard it, the tiniest creak above them from what was undoubtedly a small footstep. Both of their eyes raised instinctively to the ceiling, alarm filling Mycroft's face involuntarily. Sherlock stared at his brother as if he couldn't believe his eyes, the jigsaw pieces finally falling into place before him.

"Oh my god!" He breathed, a mixture of excitement and disbelief, "she's here right now, isn't she? Your mystery woman!"

Sherlock took a few eager steps towards the stairs, his fascination making it impossible to hold back. He stopped in his tracks as Mycroft barked his name.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted, his fists clenched in anger and his voice shaking slightly with nerves, "if that apology you just made had any meaning at all, you will respect my wishes and please leave. If you ignore me and run up those stairs, then every word you just spoke was a lie".

Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft, a slightly hurt look on his face. A curiosity was burning inside him with greater power than he had ever felt before. He was so overwhelmed with curiosity that for a split second he considered ignoring Mycroft and running up the stairs before he could react. But Sherlock forced himself to stop. As tempting as it was, defying Mycroft now would have dire consequences. Sherlock would have to use more cunning ways to find out what he wanted to know.

"You're absolutely right Mycroft", Sherlock said, "I'm sorry, my interest got the better of me for a moment".

With a small smile, Sherlock headed towards the front door and opened, turning to address Mycroft one last time before he left.

"Never did I think I would see you care so much", Sherlock said softly, "I wonder if it will be worth it?"

Sherlock left the house, closing the door behind him. Mycroft slumped against the nearest wall, closing his eyes and wiping the sweat from his brow. That had been close. It could have gone much worse, although he was frustrated to realise that his secret was now officially out.

John was attending an army reunion that evening, and came back home to the flat very late. He therefore did not see Sherlock until breakfast time the following morning. It did not take John long to notice that Sherlock was exceptionally quiet and thoughtful, a slightly sad expression on his face.

"You ok, Sherlock?" John Enquired, concerned to see his friend looking so somber.

Sherlock nodded, but John was not convinced.

"Could you do a favour for me, John?" Asked Sherlock, still staring listlessly out of the window, "I don't feel like going out today".

"Sure".

"Could you possibly drop into the mortuary on your way home, and ask Molly if I can borrow all the autopsy reports she has done on our murder victims so far? I feel like I want to focus on trying to solve this case", Sherlock asked.

"No problem", said John, "but in the meantime, are you sure you are ok?"

Sherlock did not reply.

Molly was only too happy to assist when John visited the mortuary, compiling the reports he needed quickly. Molly seemed happier and more cheerful than John had seen her in a while. He smiled as she chattered away, pleased to see how well she was doing.

"Shame Sherlock did not think of these earlier", said Molly as she located the final folder required, "he could have taken them himself yesterday".

"True", said John, "but then I think he was a bit preoccupied when he was here yesterday".

Their eyes met and they exchanged looks as they both remembered the embarrassing scene between Mycroft and Sherlock on the previous day.

"That was all a little bit awkward, wasn't it?" John said with a short laugh.

Molly nodded, although she did not seem to share any humorous opinion of the incident.

"Well, sherlock's apologised now hasn't he, so hopefully we won't have to have a repeat performance", Molly said.

John grinned and said "I hope not! Goodnight Molly, see you soon".

"Bye John", Molly said with a smile, returning to her work as he left.

John started to walk down the street, thinking about Molly's words. He too hoped there would be no repeat of what had happened, the whole incident had been horribly awkward for everybody else to witness.

Suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as he reconsidered the conversation he had just had. How on earth did Molly know about sherlock and the apology?

John turned around slowly and stared back in the direction from which he had come. No, it simply was not possible. The conclusion that John was drawing in his mind seemed so unlikely that he could not believe it. John continued to stand rooted to the spot, unable to move and unable to decide what he should do. It seemed he had unwittingly discovered the truth behind Mycroft's secret.