There were worst things to happen than be woken up on a Saturday morning by the sound of Toby howling. He did that when it rained. The London summer heat seemed to have been dragged into the gutters along with the fat droplets. Yes, the fresh smell of wet earth along with that beautiful melody of water being pelted on the plastic parapet over her neighbour's balcony seemed like an ideal way to be woken up.

She'd had a horribly long week. The working hours had been long and extra tedious due to the hospital servers taking a field trip. Plus there had been that accident (she'd bet 20 quid in their private bid that it was sabotage) in Hounslow. She never ceased to be surprised at the sheer stupidity of the human race at times. It was July, so tourist season was at its highest. That added to the already monstrous traffic snarls. Plus the heat! It's like the tropics chose to transfer to the higher latitudes without any warning. The temperature was perfect for lying on the beach, torturous to endure on a normal work day. Tempers were short and nerves were frayed. And no one was spared.

Sherlock had been between cases; bored and uncomfortable. The magical combination. She was surprised he hadn't limped into her lab or at the least, received a black eye or a head bump. She had just about controlled herself from throwing the beaker of mild nitrous acid at him. But while he cared a hoot for his clothes, she couldn't bear to spoil that silken beauty that was a Tom Ford suit.

Residual affection for Toms, she smirked and then giggled. Toby yowled again and she hissed out at him, my house, my jokes.

Her hissing caused her head to ache with that suddenness that always followed a night of indulgence in wine. As consciousness welcomed her more and more, she realised the effects of that indulgence with increased clarity. The world was spinning around…and so was she.

I'm spinning around…Kylie Minogue sang in her brain, an image of perfection even for wine addled brains. Fuck you Kylie, she cursed mentally with a vengeance.

"Is that what you call them the next morning?"

That voice…she knew that voice, but not now. Had she spoken out? Oh Kylie, I prefer you spinning me around. Sing again love.

But she was actually spun around while lying on her bed. It wasn't some magical reaction to the pop song, strong arms had held her waist and turned her around. As she finally dared to open her eyes, she was greeted by the visage of a tousled haired, shirtless and amused Sherlock. Lying in her bed. Under her blankets. Next to her. In her bed, if she hadn't mentioned that already.

Shocked right out of her daze, she used her blanket to cover her open mouth.

What the hell!

She narrowed her eyes as she stared right back at him. There were few people from work at the pub, then there was Greg and…yessss, Sherlock had joined them for reasons she didn't understand as he just sat there looking bored. She was dancing and drinking and dancing…drinking was involved, a lot of it she guessed.

But from there to here. And she wasn't wearing clothes too.

Just lovely, Hooper, so much classy.

As usual the man besides her knew what she was thinking.

"No, your friend spilt beer all over your dress. That's why you are undressed. And I never sleep covered, not in this weather anyway."

She narrowed her eyes again.

"Ah! Long day, pissed cat, cat piss on sofa. So a shared bed it was."

She lay on her back and blinked at the roof. There was some pride left to salvage, after all.

"Though…do you really want to do all that you said you wanted to do to me?"

Eyes snapped wide open, she slowly turned to look at him. What?

"Filthy, filthy mouth on you Miss Hooper."

She stared at him in horror, holding his steady gaze.

Till he smiled. And then grinned. And then laughed softly. And then loudly.

"Oh God, your face! Your face!"

Oh!

She hated him then, hated him with a vengeance. In fact, wiping off that smirk was the only aim in her life now. So she did just that. Who'd have thought Sherlock Holmes would squeak and freeze under the thunderous gaze of his hung-over and pissed off pathologist who was held him down with surprising speed and force.

Not a word was exchanged, their stare unbroken till she lowered her gaze to his lips.

Oh, what the hell, nothing chanced nothing gained Hooper.

As she kissed his soft plump lips (fuck, so bloody kissable…why) she mentally waved him farewell. Till he returned her overture with enthusiasm…much enthusiasm.

It was later… much later… when she lay back gasping on her bed, Sherlock's head resting against her neck, their hands held together in a death grip that she actually realised the magnitude of their action. Sensing her worry, he had refused to let go of her hand, dragging it to his lips and laying a raggedy kiss on it.

"So that was what you wanted to do to me…what about my turn? Things I want to do Miss Hooper…cant get it out of my head.."

Hail Kylie, was her last thought.