AN: University!Sherlock meets Kissogram!Amy.

I've got a Beta now. Betas are cool. Thank you very much to Sealed Envelope, without whom this fic would be a lot different.

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It's quite possible that he's never been so humiliated in his life.

He knows that part of his mind should be thinking, looking at the girl and reactions around the room, narrowing down lists in his head, deducing whose terrible idea this was.

Even with the part of his brain that runs on automatic working away on it furiously, all he can think is, 'Please don't'.

She'd knocked on the door twice and smiled widely at the person who opened it, then asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement, for Sherlock Holmes.

For the first time in a very long time, because he usually couldn't care less, he'd wished that no-one knew who he was. Unfortunately, a side-effect of his admittedly abrasive personality was scornful recognition – as it was, half the room fell over themselves to point at him. Most of them probably thought she was a real police officer, and were hoping for him to be arrested and the few who didn't were already snickering.

That question had been answered almost the moment she set eyes on Sherlock. Her body language went from friendly to blatantly seductive, and the kissogram hiked up her skirt a little as she strode towards him, hips swaying teasingly.

Why was this happening to him? Why?

She grins wider as he winces, adds a little more strut to her walk, even bloody winks.

"Don't be frightened, Sherlock," she says teasingly, in a strong Scottish accent.

Scottish – he files that away, a solid fact, but it doesn't help his panic in the slightest.

Oh God. Oh God.

She tosses back her head of red hair, relishing the look of discomfort on his face. He nearly takes a step back, away from the glint in her eyes, but he knows that would only result in her chasing him around the room.

She's only a metre away now.

Who is she? That's the important question. She certainly has a singular ability to make him squirm, but he swears he's never laid eyes on her before in his life.

Fighting the urge to flee, he straightens up slightly, trying to quash his anxiety.

She takes the last step in a sudden stride and then she's unexpectedly up against his body, kissing him desperately and deliciously.

She's good at what she does, at the very least. But he's fairly sure that she doesn't need her hand in his dark hair like that, tugging him closer, and that it says nowhere in her job description anything about using that much tongue –

Oh. And then she's gone, stepping back with a huge smile on her face like nothing happened. Her eyes move up and down him appreciatively one last time, and then she lifts up a hand and waves.

"See you, Sherlock. Very soon."

She turns right round and leaves, still a touch of the seductress in her walk.

He spends the next two weeks trying to track her down – difficult, with no name, only a description and an accent – and trying to ignore the taunts that inevitably appear the moment it becomes apparent that Sherlock Holmes is, in fact, a sexual creature as much as the rest of them.

He wonders what she meant by "Very soon".

He wonders why he hopes that's true.

He doesn't actually see the Scottish kissogram again for years.

...

AN: Review to let me know. This is going to multi-chaptered, so tell me stuff you'd like to see, too, and I'll see if I can write it in.