April in London was a month of transition and contrast. The shorter chilly days of winter were slowly giving way to the brighter, dryer days Summer. But every once in a while, one day would break with the delightful promise of the warmer days to come, only to turn around and bite you on the arse when the skies turned darker and a chill breeze kicked up, once again reminding everyone that Summer was, indeed, weeks away. Today was such a day.

Dr. Molly Hooper had left her flat that morning smiling at the warm sunshine, optimistically leaving her warm coat at home, opting instead for a cardigan, which she was sure would suffice. She hadn't counted on a rising crime rate, a falling barometer, and a definitely plummeting thermometer to conspire against her. But here she stood, shifting from one foot to another, arms wrapped around herself, trying to keep warm as the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, expounded at great length why the case was barely a four and certainly didn't require his input. He, of course, was wrapped warmly in his flowing Belstaff coat.

For some reason which Sherlock had not seemed obliged to explain, John Watson was not available this evening, probably enjoying a warm and cozy night at home with his wife Mary, and their infant daughter. So, Molly had accompanied him to the crime scene, at his request, to examine the corpse in situ, before it was removed to the morgue. She, for once, agreed with the detective. It was a simple cut and dried case, no need for his expertise. If only he would shut up so they could get out of here!

Sherlock's voice droned on and on, and Molly had completely tuned him out as she studied the interesting patterns which her frozen breath was making in the air, so she was surprised to feel a pair of arms make their way around her, as she was pulled into the warmth of the wool coat and held against the chest of the detective. Sherlock had not missed a beat in his lecture, his voice had betrayed no change in timbre, but Molly felt a warmth creeping up her spine which had very little to do with the fabric enveloping her, and quite a bit to do with the arms that held her. She decided that she might as well enjoy the moment, and pressed her back more firmly against Sherlock's chest.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" The question came from DI Greg Lestrade.

"I am attempting to explain to you that the solution to this case is quite obvious, and really should not require my presence on this chilly evening." He looked down dismissively at the corpse resting a few feet away. "I suspect that you know this as well, as you already have the perpetrator in custody, and merely want my affirmation of your correct thesis, however cliched it may …"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. His butler did it! But what the hell are you doing to Molly? Trying to suffocate her?"

Molly Hooper was now practically buried in his outerwear, her nose and eyes barely visible as she leaned into the tall man, and he held his arms, and his coat, around her. Maybe she was suffocated a bit, not that she was complaining. Jeez, Greg, she thought, let me enjoy the moment at least!

"I'm merely keeping her warm, Graham." Sherlock said calmly, but added with a bit of a snicker. "No one likes a frigid pathologist!"

Sounds like my last couple of dates, Molly thought. But then it occurred to her that Sherlock Holmes, Mr. "I-am-an-island-unto-myself-and-nobody-is-coming-ashore-here!" had just made a remark which could be considered a double entendre, even flirtatious, if one were desperate. As Molly Hooper was! She decided to go for it.

"I am not in the least bit frigid, Sherlock. Merely a bit cold at the moment."

Greg Lestrade snorted, and walked away. Whatever game Sherlock Holmes was playing, he was not sure he wanted to be there when it ended. He was, however, a bit curious about who would eventually win!

Sherlock had not made any move to change their positions, merely standing there studying the police activity around him, still sheltering the tiny woman in his arms, and coat. Molly had a brief moment of concern when she heard his mobile signal an incoming text, but he removed the device from his coat pocket with one hand, leaving the other arm securely around her. He glanced at it briefly, the re-deposited it in his coat.

The pathologist had, of course, stopped shivering quite a while ago, but when Sherlock leaned in to whisper in her ear, she did quiver a bit.

"Warm enough, Dr. Hooper?"

"My hands are still freezing, I should have worn gloves. And a coat. And a hat…"

"Perhaps you should reverse your position, Molly. If you were to put your arms around my waist, you could warm your hands against my back…"

Molly Hooper wasted no time in taking him up on his offer, and found that she much preferred this position. She could feel his warm breath on her face, and hear his heartbeat, which seemed to be speeding up quite nicely, thank you. As was her own!

"Dr. Hooper, I don't believe our presence is required any longer. Perhaps we should retire to someplace warmer and continue this experimentation in heat exchange?"

Molly could hardly believe that he was suggesting what she hoped he was suggesting. She lifted her head from his chest to study his face, and was rewarded with a smouldering look generating enough British Thermal Units to cause spontaneous combustion. To put it more bluntly, it was hot!

The couple broke apart just long enough to step to the curb and flag down an approaching cab. As they clambered into the rear seat still hanging on to one another, DI Lestrade waved his good-byes, and shook his head with a smile.

The next morning, Molly Hooper awoke at 221B Baker Street, wrapped up in a sheet and Sherlock Holmes. She sighed happily as she remembered the night before, and the many nights to come. Sherlock Holmes had a scientific mind, after all, and he had made it perfectly clear that last night had only been the first of many nights in which they would be experimenting in the field of thermodynamics.

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